Innocence is fleeting, Death stays true forever
by SSC
Summary: Spoilers for books 1 to 5. NonHBP compliant. In the summer after OotP, Harry starts thinking: is death really irreversible? Necromancer!Harry.
1. Gone

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Innocence is fleeting, Death stays true forever**

Number Four Privet Drive lay silent beneath the stars. The night was filled with the typical sounds of an upper-class neighbourhood. A few dogs barked their sorrow to the passing clouds, some cars passed under the yellow light of the street-lamps. All the houses were watching over their perfect little gardens and white fences.

It had been a warm summer day. Most people had sought their refugee in the shade or the swimming pool. It had been much too warm to work, really.

The burning summer sun had only seen one person gardening. A boy – nearly a man, sixteen years old now and with eyes that would make any girl swoon, if they hadn't been hidden behind such ugly glasses. Black hair that kept falling in front of those eyes, momentarily hiding the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead. The long fingers were pulling weeds as if they had done something to offend him personally. Though, the boys anger was not directed at the weeds, but at his guardians. All of them.

The Dursleys, for making his life a living hell when he was supposed to be having a vacation.

Dumbledore, with his naive ideas about 'protecting Harry's innocence', thus keeping the Prophecy from Harry, which indirectly led to Sirius' death.

All those Order members, who were even right now spying on him, watching him "to protect him" – he had seen last year what their protection was really worth. Yes, the dementors, sent by that Umbridge woman.

Harry was sick of it. He had had enough. Sure, his friends had been sending letters, but they couldn't cheer him up. It would be more than a month before he would be allowed to visit them and he could really use some moral encouragement right now, after...

As if he really wanted to go to Grimmauld Place, anyway. Sirius had hated the place. And Kreacher was still there.

Sirius... His godfather had been the only person to understand him, Harry found. The one who argued with Mrs. Weasley last year to make him include Harry in the Order meetings, the only person who had always supported Harry, no matter what he did. So what if he had pranked Snape a few times when they were students? Harry had been very shook when he saw the memory Snape's Pensieve held, last year during Occlumency. But now, when he thought about it, he concluded it was such a great coincidence that the Pensieve had been left on the top of the desk, while Snape knew Harry would be coming. If he really wanted it hidden, shouldn't he have put it away rather than just leaving it? Or had Snape been planning on Harry's curiosity, and wanted him to see that memory?

It didn't matter. Not anymore. If his father had been a prat or not: he still remained Harry's father. And he still remained dead.

Dead. Like Sirius.

How he wanted to curse Bellatrix for what she had done... Rightous anger wasn't enough? Fine. He'd give her hate. He'd give her suffering. It was her fault Sirius had died.

Dead. Such a strange concept. Was there really no way to reverse this condition?

He had been thinking about this ever since he got back to the Dursleys. And using a Post Order company he had bought himself some books, in which he hoped to find some references to the Veil Sirius had fallen into.

It was that hot, starry summer night those books were delivered.

Harry had been staring out of the window, and quickly payed the four tired owls before taking the package they held. In one night, he browsed through all three the books, finally finding what he sought.

Three sentences would change Harry's life forever.

_Not much is known about the Veil, but it is generally believed to be a gateway into the realm of Death. The Veil is a one-way portal, though it is hypothesized a Necromancer could make the gate go both ways. Nobody can be sure, since Necromancy is a rare and extremely Dark Art, worthy of a life sentence in Azkaban._

That was all the information Harry got about the Veil, but it was enough.

A sparkle appeared in Harry's eyes.

:-:-:

_**Harry Potter Disappeared!**_

_By Stephan Rowdink_

_Three days ago, Harry Potter disappeared from the house of his guardians. This was only today confirmed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the famed Headmaster of Hogwarts' school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, whom we all know thanks to his glorious defeat of Grindelwald in 1945, among other things. But has the seemingly omniscient man lost his touch? Has the Boy-Who-Lived been kidnapped? One can only hope for the best. (Continued pg. 5)_

_:-:-:_

_**Still No Sign Of Harry Potter**_

_By River Grendill_

_The search for the famed Boy-Who-Lived has reached a dead end. The Ministry had proclaimed the Aurors will stop actively searching for Harry Potter. Ever since he disappeared two months ago no one has seen him. The beginning of the school year has started and the wizarding world is at a loss. There have been rumours going around about Harry Potter being the Chosen One to defeat You-Know-Who, but with our hero gone, do we really have a chance to succeed? (Continued pg. 11)_

_:-:-:_

_**You-Know-Who Strikes Again!**_

_By Wiebhe Ruddingh_

_Last night, three muggle villages have been burned down and the Dark Mark was sighted above them. The two sole survivors told terrifying tales of armies of Inferi (called Zumboe's by the Muggles) before succumbing to their wounds. This is the fourth strike this month, after the devastating attack on 'Little Wendy's Primary School For The Magically Gifted.' One question lies on everybody's lips: Where is Harry Potter? Where is our saviour?_

_:-:-:_

"You have to eat, Ron." The bushy haired witch looked at her boyfriend intently. "Starving yourself won't help a thing, you know that."

"I can't help it. How can I enjoy this if Harry's not here?" The redhead poked with his fork in his food, not managing to get the mashed potatoes in his mouth. Christmas. It was Christmas, and everyone was celebrating, and it _hurt _that Harry wasn't here to enjoy it.

Hermione still got teary-eyed when he mentioned their missing friend, but she had come to the logical conclusion. She was, after all, a very logical person.

"Ron... It's been five months. I don't think Harry's coming back."

"Shut up!" Ron couldn't hear this, he was sick of everyone telling him he should stop hoping! "Harry has been in bad situations before, and he _always_ gets out of them!"

"It's very likely the Death Eaters had him. If so, V-voldemort... He wouldn't have hesitated. Please Ron, you're making this even harder for everyone. I miss him too! Just _accept_ –"

"No! No. No, Hermione. I have faith in Harry. Just you wait and see."

Hermione hugged him.

:-:-:

_**Boy-Who-Lived Proclaimed Dead**_

_By Remmy Murker_

_After eleven months of being gone, Harry Potter has been proclaimed dead by the Ministry of Magic. His friends (R. Weasley and H. Granger, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts) were unable for comment, though their sorrow was visible on their faces when this reporter gave them the grave news. And they, along with the rest of the Wizarding World, have got a reason to be sorrowful. With Harry Potter dead, who will dare oppose You-Know-Who? Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore urges us not to lose hope and assured this reporter that he will always oppose the rising Darkness, but the faith in him is wavering. Dumbledore couldn't prevent the Massacre of Durmstrang to happen. What hope do we have left?_

_:-:-:_


	2. Return

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Return**

Thirtheen months after disappearing, and two months after being proclaimed dead, Harry Potter walked through Diagon Alley. He hadn't changed much, but those who knew him would be able to see the small differences. His black, hooded cloak hid his green eyes, eyes that were accented by his pale face. The youthful innocence had faded and left those green eyes with a newly acquired darkness. His old glasses had been disposed of, and the thin silver frames fitted his face much better. His hair hadn't changed much, but was now kept firmly out of his face with two small, round silver pins. A close observer would realise those pins where shaped like tiny skulls.

He had become thinner, and his steps held nothing of the unsure, naive boy he had once been. This wasn't a boy. This was a man, one who knew his strenghts and who wasn't going to let someone else tell him what to do.

The cloak made him fairly unrecognizable. It did not matter much if someone did realise who he was, though. He would reveal himself soon, when he had fulfilled his goal.

And he was so close in succeeding. He only needed one little thing, and _then_...

With a faint smile, Harry Potter entered Knockturn Alley.

:-:-:

Charles was an Unspeakable who specialized in the Chamber of Death and the Chamber of Time. One of his duties was to make sure nobody tresspassed into one of these chambers. The 'small problem' a year ago, when the Potter boy and his friends (not to mention all those Death Eaters) had got inside these chambers, had been a huge blow to Charles' ego. He, together with his colleagues, had thought their protections to be infallible. Apparantly not.

So they had worked extra hard this past year to improve their defensive charms, until they were all assured that only another Unspeakable could enter.

Imagine Charles' surprise when he entered the Chamber of Death, and found a cloaked stranger in front of the Veil.

The stranger was standing with his arms raised. In one of his pale hands he held a wand, and the long fingers of his other hand were wrapped around a dagger. The gleaming metal sliced through the air. A thin thread of humming magic from his wand connected to the veil. The stranger was chanting, every sibilant word making the thread thicker and stronger.

Charles reacted the way he was trained to: he activated the alarm, and pointed his wand at the stranger. "Step away from the Veil, now!"

The chanting did not stop. The man ignored him. The Veil fluttered in a non-existent breeze.

Charles was not going to let this happen. "_Stupefy!" _The red light of the Stunning Spell was intercepted by an ugly yellow shield before it could reach the stranger.

The other Unspeakables had arrived. They too shot a myriad of spells to the stranger, some borderline legal, but it was to no avail. The yellow shield absorbed them all.

The Veil was fluttering madly now, its curtain being held open by the beam of magic from the stranger's wand. Utter darkness lay where the thread touched the Veil, darkness in which something seemed to _move_...

"Stand aside," Albus Dumbledore said. Charles couldn't bring himself to be surprised at the Headmaster's appearance. With all the interest You-Know-Who had been taking in the Department of Mysteries, it was fairly obvious Dumbledore would want to be notified when the alarm sounded.

Charles moved aside, and watched how the Headmaster of Hogwarts shot a sparkling blue spell at the shield. It quivered a moment, but stayed strong.

Charles began to worry. The only one who matched Dumbledore in power was You-Know-Who... Perhaps it was time to call for reinforcements.

He was still thinking about this when suddenly people burst into the room, quickly grouping behind Dumbledore. Charles thought he recognized some Aurors. Were they the Order members? Possibly. If this was really You-Know-Who performing dark magic on the Veil, some members of the Order of the Phoenix could come in handy.

They attacked the shield again, assisted by Dumbledore, but the shield only trembled a bit.

The figure inside the Veil had come a lot closer now. The stranger had cut his wand hand with the dagger, blood mingling with the beam of magic.

Suddenly the being inside the fluttering cloth was gone.

A naked, shivering Sirius Black lay in front of the Veil.

The stranger stopped chanting, and put away his wand and knife. He took off his cloak and draped it over the man who, until a moment ago, had been _dead_.

The yellow shield faded away. The stranger turned his head, a stranger no more.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Harry."

"Professor." The Boy-Who-Lived inclined his head. "It's been a long time."

Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words. "What happened? Where were you? I-"

"Harry James Potter, you are under arrest for trespassing in the Department of Mysteries and the use of Dark Magic." The other Aurors on duty had also arrived, their wands trained on the Boy-Who-Lived. "We will now escort you to a Ministry holding cell, in wait for your trial."

Harry Potter smiled, not intimidated at all. "No."

The Head Auror narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I refuse to be escorted to a holding cell." Harry pointedly looked at Dumbledore. "Professor, it is time to take Sirius and me back to Headquarters. I will answer your questions there."

Dumbledore reigned in his bewilderment, and turned to the Head Auror. "Mr. Scrimgeour, I fear you aren't legally allowed to hold Mr. Potter. At least, not until the paperwork is finished to proclaim him back alive. Since he was thought to be dead, he lost the citizenship of Magical Britain. Until this grave error is out of the way, he doesn't fall under your jurisdiction and you can't legally hold him." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "The same goes for Sirius Black. I will take them both to a secure location, until your paperwork is finished. Have a good day, Mr. Scrimgeour."

Of course the Head Auror protested and a small battle of words ensued, but it was nothing Dumbledore couldn't handle. He managed to take Harry to the Portkey Room, followed by some of the Order members he had called as reinforcements. Mundungus Fletched and Nymphadora Tonks were carrying Sirius' unconscious body. They were all amazed, worried and perhaps a tad scared. Harry's green eyes lingered on them for a moment, checking each and every Order member as if he was doubting their trustworthyness. The little skulls in his hair gleamed in the light. The few Order members old enough to know what those skulls meant were more than a little worried.

:-:-:

A Portkey brought them directly to the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry didn't hesitate and walked through the front door. Dumbledore frowned, and opened the door before stepping inside.

Molly Weasley just entered the room. "Is everyone safe? What was that alarm about? Arthur -" She stopped in the middle of her sentence, her eyes growing wide. "Harry!"

A second later she has hugging the young man tightly, tears streaming from her face. "Oh, Harry, you poor boy, we've missed you so much!"

Her cry had alerted the whole house, and almost the entire Weasley clan stormed into the room, accompanied by Hermione en some other Order members. Remus was one of them. The werewolf's eyes went as wide as Molly's, flashing between Sirius' unconscious form and Harry's new appearance.

Remus' nose twitched. While Ron, Ginny and Hermione hurried towards Harry, Remus walked to Sirius, and tenderly touched his forehead. "You're back, my friend." He turned his eyes back to Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by hugging friends, and looked extremely uncomfortable. Remus breathed in deeply. Something was off with the smells in the room. In the air hung a very faint odour of decay. But it wasn't Sirius.

Remus took a step closer to Harry. The smell became stronger. It remained extremely faint, but there was no doubti it came from Harry.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but Molly forestalled him. She inspected Harry critically. "You haven't been eating enough, have you? You're much too thin and pale. Where have you been?"

"Yeah, mate. Two months ago the Ministry proclaimed you dead, and now you're here. Where _were _you?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded, reluctantly letting go of Harry. "You missed an entire school year. How are you going to make up for all those classes?"

Harry smiled, but was kept from replying because suddenly the portrait of Sirius' mother started screaming. Apparently she too had been awakened by Molly's scream.

"_Filthy Mudbloods, befouling the noble house of my ancestors, halfbreeds and monsters –"_

Harry's eyes darkened, and his smile became colder. "Just a moment," he told his friends, and he took his wand from his belt. In two steps he was standing right in front of the portrait. The woman eyed him, suddenly falling silent. She looked at the silver skuls in Harry's hair and recognized them for what they were.

"No. You can't do this! No!"

"I believe I can." Harry pointed his wand at her. The portrait froze, something pale and wispy coming from the canvas, and disappearing. The painting faded into nothingness, now only a blank canvas in a frame.

Harry turned around, smiling at his surprised audience. "Now that is dealt with, I suggest you put Sirius on a couch and let Madame Pomphrey take a look at him. He should be okay now, but it's better not to take risks. He'll probably wake up in a few hours."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, more than a little worried about the magic he just saw being performed. "Harry... Harry, my dear boy, do you know what your hairpins mean?" he asked, obviously still hoping Harry had just picked them up somewhere, and they didn't mean what he thought they meant.

Harry however shook his head, looking amused. "I wouldn't wear them if I didn't deserve them, Professor. I earned them fair and square"

Remus' eyes nearly fell out of his head. "Now I remember! I once saw a picture of those – and your smell – you're a..."

"Yes Remus," Harry agreed, "I'm a Necromancer."

Not surprisingly, it was Alastor Moody who reacted first. He pointed his wand at Harry, both his eyes boring into the green ones. "Drop your wand now, boy. Necromancy is the darkest of magics. I'm not letting you harm anyone. Drop your wand."

Many other Order members kept their wands pointed to Harry, but Remus wasn't one of them. Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You did this for Sirius," he whispered.

Harry smiled softly. "Yes, I did it for him. And I don't regret it at all." He gestured to Sirius. "Pomphrey really needs to look at him and I would like to sit down, now. I'm rather tired." He rolled his eyes at Moody. "I'm not going to harm anyone. Seriously, you're much too tense."

He looked at Dumbledore. "And you, telling me last year that no magic could bring back the dead. Honestly."

"Harry... What have you done?" Dumbledore asked sadly. "You were such a beacon of Light, and now..."

Harry shook his head. "It's partly your fault, you know. If you had just told me the truth, that you have to be born a Necromancer, I wouldn't have gone and tried it myself. Of course, I would still have started searching for one, but since there are no others I would have stopped after a while, and I would never have discovered my potential." Another smile. "If you want to blame anyone, blame yourself. Not that I'm complaining." He shrugged. "I was born for this."

Dumbledore coughed. "Lower your wands, please. Let us take this discussion to the living room."

Moody complied, but only after giving Harry a dirty look. Harry settled into one of the couches and yawned. "Bloody tiring, let me tell you that. I really should have left the portrait for tomorrow." He noticed Remus' nose twitching when the werewolf took the couch next to him. Harry sighed. "Yeah, I know, I smell lousy. That's because of the Death Magic. It'll be gone in about half an hour, though, I assure you."

"Must be difficult getting a girlfriend, then," Remus commented lightly.

Harry grinned. He appreciated the effort. "As if I actually had time for things like that."

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. "I believe you have quite a story to tell us, Harry. I will call for a full Order meeting. If you excuse me, I have some people to Floo." Dumbledore left the room.

Ron tapped his fingers on the edge of his couch. "So..." he started, trying to make conversation, "Have you seen the Quidditch Scores?"

Harry looked at him oddly. Of all things to ask... "No, not really. Who won?"

"The Bigonville Bombers. With sixhundred fifty points, against the Monstrose Magpies. It was a brutal game."

"The Bombers? From Luxemburg? You're kidding."

"No, really! They're a strong team –"

"Guys!" Hermione stopped the discussion before it could go any further. "No more talk of Quidditch. Honestly, Ron! There are much more important things to discuss." She turned her stern look to Harry. "Things like: where _have_ you been? Couldn't you have sent a letter? We all thought you were dead!"

Harry shrugged. "I was, in a way. Besides, I was much too busy to write anything to anyone, really."

Moody snorted. "Busy learning the Dark Arts."

A horrible burnt smell came from the kitchen door. Molly, who had been staring at Harry, gasped. "The spinache!" She hurried out of the room.

In the doorway she collided with Madame Pomphrey, who frowned when she saw Sirius. "Isn't he supposed to be dead? And – Harry Potter!"

"That's me." Harry's eyes twinkled. "Nice to see you again, Madame Pomphrey."

The nurse lifted an eyebrow. "I'm glad the news of your demise was greatly exaggerated. However, you are looking awfully thin. Have you been eating enough?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm not _that_ skinny."

"I've seen skeletons with more flesh on their bones than you, Mr. Potter. I'll give you a nutritient potion in a moment, but first I'm going to look at Mr. Black here."

While she was examinating Sirius, Molly Weasley came back. "Dinner is ready! Oh, Poppy! Will you join us for dinner? I'll set another plate -"

"No thank you, Molly. I already had dinner," Poppy refused. Her wand kept tracing diagnostic spells above Sirius' body.

"There's nothing wrong with him, is there?" asked Harry, a small frown darkening his eyes.

Pomphrey waved his concerns away. "No, but it's always better to check properly. Now, go have dinner. You certainly need it."

Harry grinned at her, and left for the kitchen.

:-:-:


	3. Harry's Story

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Harry's story**

Harry took a large helping of spinache and potatoes. He ignored the distrustful looks some of the Order members were sending him – Moody's one was worst – and tried to make some small talk. Since nearly everyone was waiting impatiently until he answered their questions, Harry turned to Ron. Good old Ron.

"So, the Bigonville Bombers won?"

Ron nodded, and mumbled around his second helping of sausages: "Muhuh. Dey swached-eh mehpees i'do lid'l pees."

"Ron, don't talk with your mouth full," Hermione chastised him.

"Sowwee." Ron swallowed, and repeated his sentence. "They squashed the Magpies into little pieces. Honestly, it was most brutal game I've seen so far. The Seeker of the Magpies had to be carried from the field in three bags." He started refilling his plate. "Of course, the Healers managed to put him back together eventually."

Harry grinned back, but he felt a small nagging feeling in the back of his head. It felt as if he was missing something... But what?

Then it struck him. "Where are Fred and George?"

The tenseness in the atmospheer intensified, though now it was accompanied with sorrow. Arthur coughed softly. His eyes were moist behind his glasses. "Harry... They defended the Wizarding Child's Clinic against You-Know-Who's attack."

Harry frowned. "I don't know anything that has occurred in the last few months. What happened?"

From the looks on their faces, he could tell it was nothing good. Hermione reached out and took his hand. "Harry..." Her voice wavered," – they died protecting the children."

Harry was silent for a moment, digesting this unpleasant news. "How long ago was this? And how exactly did they die?"

"Two weeks ago," Molly whispered. "The Killing Curse." She hugged her husband, crying softly.

A gleam entered Harry's eyes. "Were they cremated?"

Remus frowned. "No, they weren't."

"Did you use the standard preservative charms on them?"

"Well... yes." Arthur looked up, his eyes fixing on Harry's. "Are you saying..."

The young Necromancer nodded. "It might not be too late. I don't want to give you any false hope, because there's a big chance they're too far gone, but two weeks shouldn't be too much to counter. If the preservative charms worked properly, of course."

Molly Weasley threw her arms around him and pulled him into a –literally- breathtaking hug. Harry smiled uncertainly. "I can't promise anything, Mrs. Weasley."

"You shouldn't put your hopes up, Molly," growled Moody. "Perhaps Harry here just wants their bodies to be added to his undead army."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't even _have_ an undead army. Not yet, anyway. Tomorrow, I propose we go first to Fred and George, and then I have to pay a visit to Azkaban."

"Azkaban? Why?"

"To visit the Queen of the Dementors, of course. To finish off Voldemort, we'll need all the help we can get."

"I wasn't aware the Dementors had a Queen," Remus commented.

Harry smiled slightly. "There are more things you aren't aware of, Remus."

He helped Ginny clean up the table. With a wave of his wand he made the dishes do themselves.

Hermione blinked. "That reminds me, Harry. How did you manage to learn any magic at all this past year? The Ministry Tracking Charms that notify them at the use of Underage Magic should have given you away."

"Those things? I had them disabled until I turned seventeen." Harry glanced at the calender hanging on the wall. "Which I did precisely twenty-five days ago."

Some of the Order members had already left the kitchen and went to the dining room, where the Order meeting would be held. Harry and the other members followed them. On the way to their chairs they passed Poppy, who was still casting charm after charm on Sirius Black. Harry stopped for a moment. "Are you sure nothing is wrong wih him?"

"Seeing as he's been dead for a long while, Mr. Black is suprisingly healthy," Poppy answered, ceasing her spells. "He will probably be disoriented when he wakes up, and the next days he will be lightheaded and easly tired. But I can find nothing else that'll be a problem, and he can wake up any minute now."

Harry was relieved. "That's wonderful."

"He's alive!" This cry came from a very familiar figure next to Professor Dumbledore, who had just entered the room. The other remaining Order members had arrived.

The man who had yelled regained his composure. He glared at Sirius and Harry. The Potions Master's eyes narrowed when he saw the skulls in Harry's hair. "You must be joking." Severus Snape had not changed a thing in Harry's absence. "Why are you playing this masqerade, Potter? Get rid of those pins! You can't make anyone believe you actually know what they mean, let alone you _earned _them!"

It was typically Snape, and this time Harry was not letting the Potions Master walk all over him.

Harry smiled coldly, letting loose a bit of his power. In this house, infested with Dark Arts, it was ridiculously easy to take hold of the dormant magic in the air. He made the lights dim a little, and an icy breeze go through the room.

"Don't assume you know me, Professor. Now, sit down. We have much to discuss, and I'm sure you all want to know what I've been doing this past few months."

A silence had descended on the table. All the Order members were staring at him. It was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Very well. Everyone, please take a seat. Let the meeting begin."

As soon as everyone was seated Harry took the lead. "Do you guys want the long version or the the short one?"

"The one wich gives us the most information, please," wanted Dumbledore. "How and why exactly did you leave your guardians?"

Harry grimaced. "That's something I wanted to talk to you about, yes. You said the wards on their house were love-based. But I'm fairly certain they would gladly hand me to Voldemort if he offered to to pay them. Wards that are based on non-existent feelings are rather... ineffective."

"Surely your guardians love you," protested Hestia Jones.

Ron was the one who answered. "They put bars on Harry's window in second year."

"My Hogwarts' letter was addressed to 'the cupboard under the stairs'," Harry told them. "That was the 'room' I lived in until I got to Hogwarts. No, there is no love lost between my guardians and me." He shrugged. "It's the past. I didn't need to like them to live with them." He ignored their looks of pity and continued his story. "So I was stuck with people who hate me right after my godfather died. And don't forget the Prophecy."

Ron glanced up. "Wasn't the Prophecy destroyed last year?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Ron. You can't destroy a Prophecy, only the recording of it."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I happened to be present when a Seer made this Prophecy. After the happenings at the Departement of Mystries I told Harry."

"And after I got the chance to think about it, I wasn't suprised," Harry said grimly. "The gist of it was just that Voldemort and I would end up against eachother, and only one of us who would walk away from that encounter. As if we really needed a Seer to predict this." He sighed. "Of course, if Voldemort hadn't heard of the Prophecy, he wouldn't have come after my parents and me, I wouldn't be 'marked as his equal' and my parents would still be alive." He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in thoughts of what could have been.

Hermione broke the silence with a soft: "You can't... bring them back?"

Harry shook his head. "It's been too long. And even if, it would not be fair to take away the peace they now enjoy." He breathed in deeply. "Anyway, I had a lot of time to think during my time at the Dursleys. I couldn't accept Sirius' death, and decided to order some books about magical artifacts and the Department of Mysteries."

"Where? There are no books about the Department of Mysteries," Kingsley wanted to know.

Harry showed them a sheepish smile. "Would you believe me if I told you I dreamed it? At the start of the summer I was a... little _reckless_. I sort of followed one of those visions of Voldemort back into his head, and I may have _accidently_ stumbled upon some memories of the Post Order address of an obscure little bookshop in Knockturn Alley." Harry tried to look innocent but failed.

Everyone reacted at once.

"You were in Voldemort's head!" Hermione.

"You're a failure at Occlumency, the Dark Lord would have noticed you immediatly!" Snape. Of course.

"A shop in Knockturn?" Moody's growl.

"Harry, that was a very reckless thing to do." And Dumbledore.

Harry waited until they all had quieted down. Then: "Believe it or not, I can be very lucky. I ordered those books. While I was waiting for the owls to bring them, I observed you guys when you were guarding me. The weakest spot appeared to be Mundungus, and it was on his shift that I slipped away. As soon as I had read the books, of course."

Angry glances at Dung, who fidgeted with the loose treads of his left robe sleeve and looked very guilty.

"I spent the next few days wondering what to do. Because one book said only a Necromancer could pull a person from the Veil, I decided I had to either find one, or become one myself. The first option proved to be a big problem." Harry sipped from the tea Molly had just poured him, and smiled in thanks before continuing. "Since I read that Necromancy is a Dark Art, I disguised my scar with muggle cosmetics, dyed my hair blonde with a spell, hid my eyes behind a pair of sunglasses, and went to Knockturn Alley." He grinned at their incredulous looks. "It wasn't as easy as it sounds. I asked some shopkeepers if they could point me to a Necromancer, but they all gave me blank looks. After a few days of searching – I rented a room in one dingy Knockturn hotel, an experience I hope I must never relive again – a group of wizards approached me, telling me they had some books on Necromancy. If I would just come inside and take a look? I believe I already told you I was a little reckless those days? Well, I followed them. And I must admit: what they gave me was more useful than any book, though at the time I wasn't so pleased. As soon as the door had closed behind me, one of them used the Killing Curse on me."

"And you survived it _again_!"

Harry smiled faintly. "Not exactly."

His smile broadened at the sight of their dumbfounded faces. "I sort of... woke up, and found myself in a strange, grey place, in the middle of a stone forest. In the distance I could see a silver river winding through trees of stone. It was an odd thing to see, but even odder was the being standing right behind me. He gave me quite a scare when I first saw him. Understandably I'm a bit jumpy around people with long dark robes and hoods. He introduced himself as Death." He frowned, looking thoughtful. "I'm calling Death a him because that's the shape he showed to me, but I believe he's genderless. Death isn't a man or a woman. Death simply _is_."

"You met Death," Snape deadpanned.

Harry nodded. "He isn't really a people person, I know. He doesn't often talk to the souls he guides, but he is not half bad. Anyway, after he convinced me that he truly was Death and not one of Voldemort's lackeys, he told me I had messed up the natural order of things." He grinned. "I'm good at that."

"Unsuprisingly," murmured Snape.

Harry ignored that. "To understand what he told me, you must know a few things. First: Fate is another being like Death, only more powerful and it controls a lot of things. The second thing is that Fate cannot mess with free will. It can influence it a bit, though. For example, Fate can decide you'll lose all your money in one night, but it can't make you commit suicide because of it. It can help things along a bit, by giving you other reasons to do it, but it can't force you. Prophecy is a strong weapon of Fate, to move things along on the path it wants us to take." Harry breathed in deeply. "The third thing is about the Veil. It's a gateway between the stone forest and this reality, as you probably have guessed by now. It was created by Fate for when free will messes something up and there's no way to repair the damage without messing it up even more. The beings who were the cause of this problem would be guided to the Veil and fall through it. Why couldn't Fate get rid of them in another way? Because that would leave tracks. A body, a bloodstain, ash, it doesn't matter. Someone who falls through the Veil is supposed to be completely erased. And they are. That's why there is no record of anyone falling through it. Except Sirius, of course."

Harry shrugged. "Seems that Fate had decided I had to face Voldemort, and I wasn't supposed to die before fulfilling this Prophecy. Sirius' free will led him to the Departement of Mysteries that night. His _free will_ led him there. He wasn't supposed to fall through the Veil, and that's one of the reasons it was so easy to bring him back. But it was Sirius' death that made me go to Knockturn Alley, and got me killed before I could fulfill the Prophecy. By dying, I ruined Fate's Plan." He smiled. "So it had to fix things. As you probably don't know, a Necromancer can survive the Killing Curse. Only once, though. The Killing Curse turns the Death Magic dormant, and prevents it to shield against the second Killing Curse. This is something I learned from Death, and I'm guessing it's rather obscure knowledge. It probably hasn't happened before in this reality, thus you all think there's no way to survive Avada Kedavra. There is." He took a deep breath. "So Fate decided to awaken my dormant Death Magic and bring me back amongst the living. It made it so that I'm shielded against all Avada Kedavra's, until Voldemort fires one at me. A second one and I'm toast. But for now I'm feeling rather safe."

Another long, deep breath. "I spent a lot of time with Death before he sent me back. He didn't want the magic to overwhelm me, and taught me quite a few things. I won't bore you with the details. I must say, being in his domain changes you. I realise I'm not quite acting like the person you guys knew, but I can assure you I'm still the same Harry. Anyway, I got sent back to the exact time I died. You should have seen the faces of those Dark Wizards when they realised their Killing Curse had failed!" An amused smile. "Then I spent the next year researching in other countries, and found a lot of books on Necromancy. I still needed to find a way to bring back Sirius. I didn't follow the news, so I don't know anything about Voldemort's activities while I was gone."

The Order members didn't get a chance to react to Harry's story, because Poppy entered the room. On her leant a pale Sirius Black. "Hi guys," he croaked.

Mouths dropped open. It seemed some people hadn't really dared to believe Sirius was alive until they saw him walking around. Tonks stumbled towards him, nearly tripped three times and pulled Sirius in a quick hug. Remus was openly crying, tears wetting his huge smile. The last true Marauder wasn't te last any longer.

Sirius smiled weakly at them all, but it was his godson his eyes found first. "Harry."

Harry rose fluidly. But what use was keeping up appearances on a moment like this? It was impossible. Harry didn't cry – he just threw his arms around Sirius, like the child he hadn't been for a long time.

Sirius patted his back, hugging back with all his current strenght. "Shh... I'm back." The small silver skulls caught his eyes. Understanding dawned in them. "You're the one who... You did it for me, didn't you?"

Madame Pomphrey cleared her throat. Harry let go, and helped her to guide Sirius to a chair. The nurse handed Sirius a vial. "This will help with your voice. And don't you dare overexert yourself, young man! If I hear that you've not been resting enough I'll personally bind you to your bed."

The tired grey eyes acquired their old mischievous gleam. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Poppy."

Madame Pomphrey made an undignified sound. "Obviously dying hasn't changed your personality for the good, Mr Black. Drink that potion."

Sirius grinned faintly. "Woof." He obediently did as he was told. The potion soothed his painful throat and made talking easier.

He looked at Harry, who had taken the seat next to him. "How did you do it?"

"Well, it was actually not very difficult, but very tiring. It was merely a slight bending of alternate realities mixed with some Orphean Rites and the Calling of Libitina –" He noticed their uncomprehending faces. "Err... I'll just drop the technicalities."

"Please do," Ron added, ignoring Hermione's little disappointed sound. "I didn't understand a word of that, mate."

Harry smiled at him, and turned to his godfather. "Let me translate it into normal English: I stuck my magic into the Veil and pulled you out of it."

"What was it like, being in the Veil? How much do you remember?" asked Kingsley.

Sirius frowned. "I remember the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and falling into the Veil. Then... nothing. I was drifting into a white nothingness. I couldn't really think or see or feel anything, now I'm looking back... It was simply – Nothing existed, so I shouldn't either, but I think I did keep a faint sense of self. I don't know how long I've been there, doubting if I was real, but it felt like weeks... Too long. I think I was going mad, if there was an 'I' left, of course..." He took a deep breath. Harry put his hand on Sirius', offering silent support.

Sirius swallowed, and continued. "Then a dark beam disrupted the nothingness, calling me towards it. I rode the beam, and the next thing I know I'm lying in a couch with Madame Pomphrey frowning at me."

He smiled shakingly at Harry. "I don't understand how you did it, but thank you."

A short silence. Then Arthur Weasley cleared his voice. "Sirius... It weren't weeks. You've been gone for an entire year."

"A- a year?"

Harry averted his eyes. "I should have tried to pull you out sooner. But I wasn't ready. I didn't _feel_ ready. I'm sorry."

Sirius snorted. "You revived me and you're sorry? If you'll excuse me, I don't mind you took the time to study, instead of experimenting with the Veil and perhaps not succeeding." He looked at Dumbledore. "What have I missed in my year of absence?"

"Voldemort has been attacking almost all magical communities in Europe," Dumbledore said. "Durmstrang, Diagon Alley, Beauxbatons, Ministries of Magic... Saint Mungo's. Schools for young wizards and witches. We only barely managed to keep him from Hogsmeade..."

"You specified 'almost' all magical communities. Why? Is there a place he didn't attack?" wondered Sirius aloud.

Moody answered. "He hasn't yet attacked Belgium. The laws on Dark Magic are almost non-existent in that infernal land. It's probably filled with Death Eaters. Why would Voldemort attack his allies?"

Harry frowned. "I spent a lot of last year in Belgium, and I haven't seen any Death Eaters. Just because their laws are less strict doesn't mean they're all evil."

"Where else have you been?" asked Remus, before Moody could start arguing with Harry.

"Well, I visited Egypt, Bulgary and a few African countries. I've been to Asia too. Tibet was particulary beautiful." He yawned. "If you don't mind, I would really like some sleep now. Tomorrow will be a hard day for me. Sweet dreams."

:-:-:

When Harry had left the room, an uneasy dicussion started.

"He has certainly changed," mused Remus.

"Not for the good," growled Moody. "It's the most horrible of Dark Arts, Albus. We'll have another Dark Lord on our hands, mark my words."

"I admit I am worried about Harry, yes." Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle. "He has been learning things that could easily sway him to the side of Evil."

"He saved my life. He did it for me," defended Sirius his godson.

"Yes, but he has turned Dark because of it," snapped Molly Weasley. "Dark Magic leads to evil."

"He certainly has the power to be very dangerous," Hermione added slowly.

Ron glared at her. "He's still our friend, 'Mione. And Mum, he's going to bring Fred and George back! He's obviously on our side!"

Arthur put an arm around his wife. "You can't argue that, my dear. Let us hope he can bring them back..."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Snape muttered. "He has been learning _something_, that's obvious, but I doubt he's a true Necromancer."

"He Banished the soul from Mrs. Black's portrait. The one we couldn't remove because she had put some strong Dark Arts wards on it," countered Hestia.

"That doesn't make him a Necromancer." Snape narrowed his eyes. He would have to keep a very close eye on Potter...

:-:-:


	4. Drinkers of Souls

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Drinker of Souls **

The next morning they were greeted by a cloudy sky. Harry cheerfully sat down at the breakfast table. "Luckily we don't need sunlight to pull this ritual off."

The tension was palpable. All the Weasleys were thinking – hoping – the same thing.

Hermione still had her doubts, though. "Harry, have you ever... resurrected anyone before?"

Harry averted his eyes. "I know the theory behind it."

That wasn't very reassuring, went through the heads of most of them.

Harry sighed. "To be honest, I haven't done anything 'big' except bringing back Sirius. He was my reason to learn these things, you know. All the other uses of Death Magic I've studied because I felt I would need them, but I've not yet actually _used_ them. Don't worry, though. I know the theory, I know how to do it, I just don't know how it'll feel. It should work." A reassuring smile. "It should be as simple as following a recipe."

"And we all know how good you are at that, don't we, Potter?" Snape had entered the kitchen. As usual, he was sneering.

Harry raised his brow. "Are you here to see the resuscitation, Professor?"

"Such big words, Potter. Be careful, you might hurt your tongue."

Harry smiled thinly. Apparently, Snape still didn't believe Harry had earned his pins. Harry couldn't wait to prove him wrong.

:-:-:

The wizarding graveyard was a beautiful place. Most tombstones were decorated with moving pictures and Ever-Blooming Flowers, and the grey light from the cloudy sky gave the cemetary a solemn appearance. Harry took note of the rows of fresh graves, and wished he had been there to prevent it. Voldemort was going too far.

They stopped in front of two fresh graves, side by side. Vivid orange flowers adorned the tombstones.

Harry swallowed. Oh, he hoped this would work...

"Okay. Let's dig them up."

He took his wand and levitated the stones out of the way. Another series of spells moved the earth to the sides of each grave. Harry took a deep breath when he saw the two coffins.

He could hear Mrs Weasley softly crying behind him. He really could have done without an audience... The only one he might have wanted here was Sirius, but Madame Pomphrey had forbidden Sirius to come, telling him he was still too weak. Which he was, really.

Harry took another deep breath and gathered his famed Gryffindor courage. He lifted the coffins out of their respective graves and put them right in front of him. Then he opened them.

Behind him, Mrs Weasley started to cry even louder.

It was a painful sight, to see the twins lying there. So still, so unmoving. Their faces almost unrecognizable without their trademark grin.

Luckily, the preservative charms had done their work. Since they had been killed by the Killing Curse, no real harm had come to their bodies. (Except for the whole dying part, of course.)

Harry took the ritual knife he carried on his belt. Carefully he called for his magic.

It rose within him, eager to be let out. Harry started to half-chant and half-hiss the incantations. Some parts of the ritual needed to be spoken in Parseltongue, but that was no problem for him. During the incantations, he sliced slowly in the palm of his hand, making sure it bled enough before he pressed his hand against the closed eyes of one twin before doing the same to the other. With his wand he traced patterns in the air, runes of renewel and rebirth. A dark strand of magic floated from the tip of his wand and connected with both bloody handprints.

Harry's chanting made the strand of magic thicken, before it split into two webs that hid both twins from view.

Harry shivered. Magic was running through him, magic that leeched off his ability to think properly, magic that drained his strenght very fast and that relocated the stolen – no, _freely given_ - power to the two dead bodies inside the webs. Harry could feel his life essence pouring into them, his soul calling for theirs.

And they answered.

Harry barely noticed he had fallen on both knees and was breathing in short gasps. The chanting had stopped, though a faint, annoying humming could be heard. Fatigue and pain ran through Harry's body, making it hard for him to keep his wand steady. He could not afford to disrupt the ritual now.

Finally, he felt the strand of magic breaking. The webs unravelled, fading in the light of the greyish sky.

The last things Harry saw before he fainted, were two identical redheads sitting up in their coffins.

:-:-:

"He did it. Harry did it. He really did it." Ron was babbling, and he knew it. His parents were crying and hugging alternately eachother and the twins, who were drowsily looking at their surroundings. One of them opened his mouth to say something, but no sound followed.

While the Weasley family was reuniting with their previously dead members, Dumbledore lifted the unconscious Harry from the grass. "Reviving two people has taken a lot out of him. I will take him to Headquarters. Alastor, would you please stay here with Poppy until the Weasleys feel ready to leave?"

Moody nodded curtly. "I'll keep an eye on them."

:-:-:

Dumbledore gently lowered Harry on the couch.

"I refuse to believe this is Potter," said Snape. He had paled, but his eyes were burning. "Potter could never use a magic so Dark and powerful."

"It is Harry." Dumbledore sighed. "I'm completely sure of this." His eyes had lost their twinkle. "The fact he is a Necromancer is very alarming."

Snape snorted. "Do you believe your Golden Gryffindor Brat will become the next Dark Lord?"

"I am more worried about the Dark Lord we already have."

Snapes eyes went wide. "Those rituals... They work with the blood of the Necromancer. The third Task -"

"Indeed." Dumbledore sighed. "Voldemort was resurrected using Harry's blood. Of course, that time nobody knew it was the blood of a Necromancer, which probably made the ritual Voldemort used even more potent. But Harry's blood flows through Voldemort's veins."

"The Dark Lord was not born a Necromancer. He won't be able to use the rituals Potter can," Snape tried to convince himself. His voice wavered ever so slightly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "This is Voldemort we are talking about, Severus. Evil he may be, but Tom Riddle was also one of the brightest minds Hogwarts has ever seen. He could probably find a way to make those rituals work, now he has the blood of a Necromancer."

:-:-:

Harry woke up, completely understanding how someone would feel after being trampled by a herd of Hippogriffs. Every single part of his body hurt.

Perhaps it hadn't been such a bright idea to resurrect both twins at once. Bringing back one person was hard enough. Bringing back two at the same day was something he wouldn't attempt ever again, he vowed to himself.

He opened his eyes and frowned at the blurry shapes around him. Oh, right. His glasses.

His hand searched for the silver frames and found them on the pedestal cupboard next to his bed. The blurry shapes became the worried faces of Ron, Hermione and Ginny, standing around him. "He's awake! Go get Madame Pomphrey, Ron." Ginny took his hand and squeezed it. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry blinked. What was going on? Sure, he'd fainted, but he hadn't been out for that long... Had he? "Ehm, what's wrong?"

A tired and pale Sirius stormed inside, and hugged Harry fiercely. "Don't ever do that again! God, I thought I'd lost you –"

Harry struggled for breath in the tight embrace. "Er, Sirius?"

"Let go of him, Sirius, you'll hurt him," Madame Pomphrey chastised, entering the room. She was followed by Remus, Dumbledore and Ron. Immediatly when Sirius let go of him the medi-witch started casting spells on Harry. He endured the faint tingling of the spells, still wondering why everyone was making such a fuss.

"Nothing. He seems to be completely recovered." Pomphrey's voice was astonished.

Harry cleared his throat. "What is the matter?"

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "Harry, you've been unconscious for three days. An hour after the ritual your pulse was nearly non-existent."

"You almost _died_, Harry," Hermione whispered.

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Unexpected, but I'm still learning. I probably used too many of my reserves. How are Fred and George?"

Ginny gave him a brilliant smile. "They're okay. They are in Saint Mungo's, and in a few days they'll be released."

Relieved, Harry left his bed and searched through his trunk for his clothes. His skull-shaped pins lay on top of his folded black pants.

Madame Pomphrey ordered him to get back into bed immediatly, but Harry shook his head at their fussing. "I've already lost three days. I'm fine, I really am, but there's no time to lose." He pointed his stare at Dumbledore. "I would really appreciate it if you could get me into Azkaban."

With those cryptic words he left for the bathroom.

:-:

"Getting _inside_ Azkaban? You must be mad! Why would someone _want_ to get inside Azkaban!"

Harry paused a moment, before lifting his fork. "How else can I meet with the Dementors?" He was ravenously hungry. Something he could have expected, after three days of not eating.

"It's getting outside again that will be the problem," Remus mused. "Besides, the Ministry has declared you back alive, Harry. They're going to have a trial tomorrow, and if they see you outside Grimmauld Place until then, you'll be shipped directly to a Ministry holding cell. It's a good thing you woke up today, or you wouldn't be able to defend yourself at the trial."

"That complicates matters," Harry agreed. "But it doesn't change what must be done. I really need to go to the Dementors today, Remus. Especially if I'm going to have a trial tomorrow."

"Why?"

"If they sentence me to the Dementor's Kiss – I know the punishments for Necromancy, Hermione, you don't have to recite them to me – it would be better for me if the Dementors were on my side, yes? They wouldn't hurt an ally."

"I suppose so..." Remus wasn't convinced.

"Harry, you're forgetting something," Dumbledore slowly said. "The Dementors are on Voldemort's side."

"Their Queen isn't. She never takes anyone's side."

"And you think you can convince this Queen to take yours?"

Harry shook his head. "No. But I can try, can't I?"

:-:

It took a few hours before they agreed on a plan. Dumbledore would Apparate Harry to the dock where the small boat left to bring prisoners and visitors to the isle. After all, Azkaban was protected against the use of Portkeys and Apparation. There was no Floo and all boats but the one that was enchanted to, would be unable to find it. The ancient magic that guarded the isle made it very hard to get in or out.

And still Sirius had managed to escape. And don't forget the Death Eaters... According to Dumbledore, the prison was nearly empty. All of Voldemort's followers had been freed by the Dark Lord, at one time or another. What was left were criminals who were not imporant or loyal enough to be freed by him.

Harry stared at the dark clouds. Here, so close to the Isle of Azkaban, the wind itself seemed to scream. Perhaps it was the influence of the Dementors that made the sky so dreary and the wind so icy... Perhaps it was the echo of the terror the prisoners of the Isle had endured during the past centuries. Was it only centuries? How long did Azkaban exist? Where did the Dementors come from? Harry had gained quite a bit of knowledge on his travels, but some things were simply too old for the world to remember.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, his voice serious.

Sirius. Harry had wanted nothing more than to have Sirius here with him, but he understood why his godfather had wanted to stay behind. There were too many memories here for him. Too much not-quite-forgotten pain.

"Yes, I'm sure."

The Auror whose job it was to navigate the boat didn't question Dumbledore when the Headmaster asked him to bring him and his companion to the Isle. Harry was a bit disturbed by this. Was this the famed security of Azkaban? Anyone who Polyjuiced himself into Dumbledore would get in easily.

Probably it was harder to get out. Not that it really mattered anymore. All the dangerous prisoners had already escaped.

The presence of the Dementors was a lot stronger on the Isle itself. Dumbledore gave him a piece of chocolate, which Harry declined. He could feel the Dementors, their coldness and their power, but it didn't bother him as much as it used to. No bad memories resurfaced. Dumbledore seemed to have a bit more trouble, but he was powerful, and Occlumency probably helped a lot too.

Two gaunt-faced Aurors had noticed their arrival. They emerged from a small building, dwarfed by the huge prison standing a few hundred metres further.

Harry shook his head at Dumbledore. He didn't want to meet the Aurors. They had to get underneath the prison.

The Aurors stopped them before they could get near the desolate stone building. They too recognized Albus Dumbledore.

Harry ignored their conversation. He felt something pulling at his magic, something that clouded his mind and made him struggle to remain on his feet.

Dumbledore took Harry's arm before the young Necromancer could fall. "Harry?"

"'m fine..."

One of the Aurors scratched his head. It was a good thing they were always the last to hear about something, otherwise they'd have realised Harry wasn't supposed to be here. But no owl ever came to the Isle of Azkaban, and the Aurors stationed here rarely got any news from the outside world. It was a lousy job, not much better than being a prisoner. You couldn't hide from the never-ceasing presence of the Dementors.

"Well, professor Dumbledore, we've never heard of the Dementors having a leader. If you want us to show you the place they – er, _live_, lacking a better word – we'll do that, but on your own risk, you know. They don't like anyone entering their place, and I doubt they'll let you leave. Are you absolutely sure you want to risk it?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry. The young man had closed his eyes and seemed to listen to something.

Whatever Harry was, he could be trusted. At least, Albus hoped so... Had the Dark Magic made Harry insane? Was he leading them both to a certain death? Or worse?

Dumbledore sighed, and nodded to the Aurors. "If you'd please lead the way..."

:-:

The force that pulled his magic faded away. Harry could think clearly again. He felt the force was extremely close, but it was muffled, as if someone – something? – kept it tightly under control.

He heard a door being closed behind them, and two pair of footsteps leaving. Harry opened his eyes.

He and Dumbledore were standing in a narrow hallway. The little light on Dumbledore's wand illuminated the dank stone walls. The smell was horrible. It didn't take much imagining to realize they were below sea-level.

The Headmaster saw he was conscious and let him go. Harry took a deep breath. "Please douse your light, professor."

With his eyes Dumbledore asked if that was such a good idea. Harry simply nodded.

"Nox." The light disappeared.

The smell worsened. Cold, bony hands grasped Harry's arm and pulled him and Dumbledore through the hallway. Their footsteps echoed against the walls, adding to the sound of the rattling breathing that accompanied them.

After a few minutes, they stopped. The hands released them. In the darkness before them, something shifted.

**Who are you, human?**

The words entered his head directly. Harry took a deep breath, and bowed to what he hoped to be the right direction. He kept his head bowed. These beings had no eyes, but they could still see you. Your aura, your emotions... your life.

"I am Harry Potter, your Majesty. By dust and shadow I greet you."

Some more shifting.

**So you are a Necromancer... Do you think this will help you, human? Do you think the magic of Death will let you bind us, who once were the most favored servants of He Who Ends All?**

"I would not even dream of binding your children, your Majesty." Harry kept his voice calm and quiet. He knew without a doubt that the presence he felt before him was too ancient and too powerful to deliberately anger. Not to mention the other Dementors, who surrounded them.

**Then what do you want, human? What sweet lies will you weave for us?**

If a voice in your head could sound mocking, this was it. Harry kept his head bowed. "No lies, your Majesty. By ice and wind, I seek your aid."

The creature in front of him moved again. Something slimy and dead-too-long touched his forehead. Cold fingers traced his scar.

**You know the rituals,** the voice said. **It won't help you, nor your friend. Our children chose to aid another. The Red Serpent offered us many souls. **

Something in its voice seemed off. It sounded almost... sad?

Harry dared to look up. He could see nothing in the darkness, but the touch on his head was enough to know where the creature was.

"Souls aren't what you want, are they, your Majesty?" He wondered out loud. "It is something else."

Silence. A sharp nail travelled a bit too close to his eyes to be comfortable.

Harry ignored the slight threat. "What is it you wish for, your Majesty? Perhaps I can offer you that instead of souls and pain?"

Another long silence. The nail withdrew from his face.

Harry frowned a bit. "You spoke to me about how you and your children _once were_ Death's servants. Can I ask you what went wrong?"

A third silence. Then: **We were the guardians of souls. Our duties were to guide them to the afterlife. Fate entrusted an object to us, one that has been stolen by your kind, human. This existence we must now endure is our punishment.**

Harry's eyes widened. "The Veil. The Ministry uses it to control you, don't they?"

**The passageway into oblivion is indeed what we lost, and what must be gained back before we can become what we once were.**

"Harry, you can't promise something that's not yours to give." Dumbledore's voice cut through the following silence. Harry ignored him. The young Necromancer stared at the decaying darkness before him, and nodded slowly. "Then by ash and wave I swear, if I defeat Voldemort I shall give you the Veil."

**Not very intelligent, human. You bound yourself to this promise. If you are victorious over the Red Serpent without our help, you must fulfill it too.**

"I know. The Ministry was never supposed to have the Veil. I'm giving it back to you as soon as I have the opportunity to do so." He shrugged. "With Voldemort breathing down my back I will be too busy to work on it, but when he's gone... You should have your freedom."

A very long silence. Even the rattling breathing seemed to pause. Dumbledore prayed Harry hadn't gone to far, prayed they would be able to walk out of here alive.

Finally: **Go, Harry Potter, Childe Necromancer. Go and take your friend with you. Call for us when the time is right. **

The hands led them away, through the dank tunnels, and suddenly they were standing in the greyish Azkaban light, blinding after the previous darkness. A door fell closed behind them.

Harry looked at a pale Dumbledore, and grinned. "I did it."

"Yes, you did." Dumbledore shivered, and presented Harry and himself with some chocolate. "Let's go back to the Headquarters."

:-:


	5. Trial

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. The Ministry isn't too pleased with this..._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Trial**

When Harry woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was a wand pointing right between his eyes. "Good morning to you too," he greeted Moody, who eyed him as if he could spit fire any moment.

"Dress," the old Auror ordered him. Kingsley handed him his clothes. Harry obediently put them on. "I need to brush my teeth. Honestly, Moody, you don't have to point your wand at me all the time. I'm not running away."

"It isn't personal, Harry," Tonks said, entering the room. She smiled apologetic. "Standard Ministry precautions. We're your escorts to the Courtroom."

"I expected something like that." Harry glanced at Moody's wand. "I'd still like to go to the bathroom without an audience, though."

"You've got five minutes," Kingsley said, before Moody could argue. Harry smiled, and took his skull-shaped pins from his trunk.

Tonks suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Er, Harry? You really should leave those here. Dumbledore has decided it's best if you look as innocent as possible, and pretend the whole Veil business was a misunderstanding."

"Tonks, we had agreed not to lie to the Wizengamot," Moody hissed. "I don't care what Dumbledore says, Potter is dangerous and should –"

"_You_ had agreed not to lie. Dumbledore –"

"We have to think of the Prophecy, Alastor, -"

"I'm not leaving my pins behind." Harry swiftly ended the discussion. He looked at the three Aurors, his eyes determined. "It's not just a matter of honour. The Atlantian Council of 893 B.C. decided all Necromancers should wear pins to warn people what magic they are dealing with. I don't want anyone hurt because they angered me enough to make my control slip." He grinned faintly. "Of course, they can still do that, but at least they'll be warned. And if you'll excuse me now, I'm going to brush my teeth."

:-:

Harry sat in the middle of Courtroom Eleven, bound by the magical chains. A few metres to his right, Fudge was droning on about how dark and evil Necromancy was, and how each and every single one of them was just a Dark Lord waiting to rise.

It bored Harry. He'd heard it all before. This entire trial was a great waste of time. They should have been planning the war, he should have been preparing an army, _anything_ would have been more useful than sitting here and listening to an idiot.

"... not even considered human in most cultures..."

The worst thing was, Fudge could make his life very difficult. He was fairly sure he could survive anything they threw at him, but he really didn't fancy a life as a fugitive. Besides, he needed the Aurors working beside him in the war with Voldemort, not against him.

"... Image what he could do if he keeps his freedom! Death –"

Harry's stomach rumbled. Due to Moody's insistence they leave immediatly he had missed his breakfast. No matter how longingly he eyed the sausages Mrs Weasley had prepared, his escorts hadn't felt like waiting.

It wasn't the first time he went hungry in the past year. Necromancy was a tiring business. While you were under the influence of the magic you didn't feel mortal things like hunger or thirst, but as soon as the spells ended they came back with a vengeance.

"... that is why I feel the only fitting sentence would be the Dementor's Kiss."

Fudge had finally stopped talking. The level of idioticy in the air dropped several degrees.

Madame Bones took the word. "Harry James Potter, do you have anything to add to this?"

Harry sat up straight in his chair. "As a matter of fact I do, Madame Bones." He sought for the right words. "About a year ago, my godfather, Sirius Black, fell through the Veil in a battle with Death Eaters. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what happened in the Departement of Mysteries at the time. By the way, my godfather happens to be innocent, so I'd appreciate it if you don't throw him in Azkaban again. Anyway, everyone told me it was impossible to bring someone back from behind the Veil." He suddenly grinned. "But perhaps you know my stance on 'impossible'. I spend a year learning what I had to do to get my godfather back. Of course I picked up some other things along the way too. Things that could be useful."

"Useful for what, Mr Potter?"

"Useful in the war against Voldemort." A shiver ran through the courtroom. Harry's green eyes caught Amelia Bones' gaze and held it with their intensity. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours about me being some kind of Chosen One. They are, in fact, true. There exist a prophecy, made to Albus Dumbledore, concerning me. It was _that_ prophecy Voldemort wanted from the Departement of Mysteries last year."

"Albus... Is this true?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm afraid it is. Harry is the one destined to defeat Voldemort." Another shiver, this time coupled with uneasy glances at the dark young man in the middle of the courtroom.

"This is preposterous!" Fudge, whose lime green bowler hat nicely contrasted with his reddening face. "They are obviously lying! It's all just another plot of Dumbledore to get the boy free!"

Head Auror Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "Minister Fudge has a point. I propose Veritaserum should be used."

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Harry warned them. "Necromancers get very adverse reactions to Veritaserum, or other mind-altering substances. You're not suicidal, I hope?"

Dumbledore stood. "Veritaserum can be countered with Occlumency. It wouldn't work on Mr Potter."

Fudge started to argue, but Madame Bones quickly put a stop to the chaos that threatened to break lose. "Anyone in favour of using Veritaserum on Mr Potter?"

The majority decided not to. Harry was relieved. He really didn't fancy blowing up half the Ministry because he lost control of his magic.

"The Dementor's Kiss is the usual sentence for Necromancy," said Fudge, before Madame Bones could take the word again.

"What if he is the only one who can defeat You-Know-Who?"

"He'd still be alive, wouldn't he?"

"And how do you propose he'd fight You-Know-Who then?" Amelia asked icily.

Fudge looked flustered. "Well, he – er..."

"I doubt drooling on him would scare Voldemort much," Harry offered, his face dead serious but his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Perhaps he'd be so grossed out he takes a bath and accidently drowns himself, but I wouldn't count on it."

"This isn't the moment to make silly jokes, Mr Potter," said a stern looking Madame Bones. Harry smiled faintly. "Sorry."

The Wizengamot and the jury members adjourned to another room, to decide the verdict. Harry was left in the courtroom with two Dementors standing guard, and twenty distrustful looking Aurors. And Tonks. She gave him an encouraging smile.

He smiled back, but it withered under the angry glare Moody fixed on him.

Harry's stomach rumbled again.

It seemed to take ages before the court came back. Dumbledore winked at Harry and Fudge looked mad. Harry relaxed. He didn't bother listening to what Madame Bones was saying exactly. He got the gist of it: they spoke him free. And he was allowed to use his Death Magic, but only to help the war against Voldemort. Harry simply nodded and agreed. He'd deal with that rule when the war was over.

The chains around his wrists crawled back into the chair. He stood, just in time to see Fudge appearing next to him. The Minister's eyes were wild. He seemed to have conquired his fear for Harry, at least so much he could drag the young Necromancer and push him in front of the two Dementors that guarded the doorway. "Go on," the Minister hissed to them. "Kiss him."

Before the Aurors – or anyone else – could react to this, the nearest Dementor pulled down his hood, and leaned forward.

A body fell on the ground, no longer supported by a conscious mind. The courtroom quieted. The Dementor pulled his hood back on.

Harry Potter kneeled next to the still body and pulled back Fudge's sleeves. A collective gasp broke the silence.

"I didn't expect this. I always thought he was bribed by the Death Eaters, or perhaps only acted like he did out of stupidity. Well... This clears some things up." He looked at the Dementor. "Thank you."

It inclined its head, as if to say 'You're welcome.'

Harry ignored what was said afterwards. He was too deep in thoughts.

If he hadn't managed to make a deal with the Dementors he would have been soulless now. Fate guarded him against dying, yes, but not against that... He would have been nothing more than a human plant, incurable. And Voldemort would have won.

Harry shivered. Sometimes it was best not to dwell on such thoughts.

:-:


	6. Preparations

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Preparations.**

Harry noticed Hermione staring at him while he knotted the strings. Each thin, colored rope was carefully arranged and put into its place, sometimes entertwined with small feathers and pieces of glass, or other little things. A web-like shape slowly formed underneath Harry's capable hands.

"It looks like some kind of dreamcatcher," remarked Hermione. "The Native Americans used to make those, to keep away bad dreams."

Harry looked up briefly from his work, and smiled. "This is something like that, yes. It's a Soul Catcher, actually."

Ron flopped down on the couch, accidently messing up a few of the strings. "Neat. What does it do?"

Harry carefully put the strings back in the right order, while Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. "Honestly. What could it possibly do?"

"It catches souls, and holds them. I hope to try it on Voldemort," explained Harry. "I don't want him to keep escaping. But this kind of magic is pretty useless as long as the body is still alive, and it needs a constant feed of magic when its in use. I should be able to deal with Voldemort's soul easily, though, once his body is gone."

"You certainly seem to know what you're doing," Hermione commented, eyeing the strings. Harry grinned at her. "Nah, I'm just pretending to."

Sirius entered the room. He held a _Daily Prophet_ in his left hand. He was looking healthier every day, and his broad smile lightened up his face. "Congratulations, Harry. You made the front page again." He showed them the front page, that was almost completely filled with a huge picture of Harry as he came out of the courtroom. The small skulls in his black hair glinted even on the paper.

The press had been waiting for Harry, of course, and he'd had a lot of difficulty getting to the Ministry car the Aurors had transported him in. As soon as he'd stepped out of the courtroom a lot of flashes had gone off, and he'd been nearly suffocated by the mob of reporters. The word of what his hair pins meant had gone around quickly, though, and he'd been given a wide berth after that.

He tied the last string and critically inspected the Soul Catcher. After adjusting a few strings he put it down on the table and looked hopefully at Sirius. "Does Grimmauld Place have a laboratory?"

"For potions, you mean?" Sirius blinked. "Not that I know of. My _dearest_ family was more into hexes and Dark Curses."

Harry made a face. "I thought so too. Then I'll have to ask Dumbledore if I can use Hogwarts' laboratories."

Ron looked at him with sympathy. "Blimey, mate. Snape isn't going to like that!"

"What do need you a potions laboratory for, anyway?" asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "To make a potion, obviously." At Hermione's annoyed look he smiled uneasily, and started babbling: "I know it's rather gross, but Voldemort has an army, and the Order hasn't... You can't really count the Aurors, the Ministry is still too busy weeding out Death Eaters to be of much use, and you know how -"

"You're going to raise an army," Hermione stated.

"Technically, yes."

"So, what graveyard are you going to desecrate?"

Harry sighed. "I'd rather you don't put it like that... Think of it as – er...- recycling?"

Hermione was not amused.

Neither was Dumbledore, when he visited Grimmauld Place and Harry explained why he needed to use Snape's laboratory.

"Harry," he said gravely, "those bodies you want to use, they've been people once. They had friends and families, who would be devastated if they heard the graves had been robbed in such a horrible way. I know it is difficult, but you have to look for another way to defeat Voldemort. Have you thought about the possibility that you are mistaken, that Necromancy isn't the power the prophecy spoke of?"

"Then what is it? Love?" Harry deadpanned. "I doubt you killed Grindlewald with hugs and kisses, Professor. What do you think I should do to Voldemort, smother him to death?"

"Harry, you must understand –"

"I understand, alright! I understand that if I don't go into battle prepared, Voldemort's Death Eaters will make mincemeat out of me before I can say 'Quidditch'. There are too many of them for me to handle all at once! I may be protected against the Killing Curse, but there are worse things than death. I won't be of much use against Voldemort if I'm crippled, or in so much pain I go mad. I _need_ that army!" He threw his hands up. "Besides, it's not as if someone's still _using_ those bodies! They're just lying there! If I handle this correctly no one will have to notice the graves are empty."

"Be that as it may, I still can't condone this. You'll have to find another way."

Hard green eyes met blue ones. "The Wizemgamot has given me the right to wield Death Magic in this battle. If you don't allow me the use of Hogwart's laboratories, I'll go to the Ministry and use theirs. But then you won't be able to keep an eye on me and who knows? I might decide I like working for them better than I like helping the Order." He paused for a moment, and added: "I promise they'll get a decent burial after all of this is over."

Dumbledore looked into his eyes, hard. "I worry for you, Harry."

"You don't need to. I'm perfectly fine." Harry didn't blink. "Will you please inform Snape I'll be using his laboratory this evening?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Very well," he conceded. "I shall be there also. I am most curious as to what exactly you'll be doing."

"I won't pollute Hogwarts with Dark Magic, don't worry. It's just a potion."

Dumbledore watched him leave the room, presumably to have his lunch. He was still gazing at the door when Molly came through it, and asked him if he wanted to join in. "There's always a seat open at the table, and there's enough food to feed a village, really, Albus, are you sure –"

He declined politely, and ignited the fireplace so he could Floo back to his office. The whole time he couldn't stop worrying about Harry.

He had changed. A lot. To threaten like that... And the casualness he displayed when talking about _robbing graves_...

Albus Dumbledore decided to keep an even closer eye on the young Necromancer. He was not going to let another Dark Lord rise. The one they already had was bad enough.

:-:

Snape wasn't amused either, and his glare could have melted stone. He didn't say a word when Harry entered his laboratory, but he didn't leave either. He merely nodded tightly at Dumbledore when the Headmaster greeted him, and kept on glaring at Harry.

Harry ignored it. He emptied the bags he carried on one of the workbenches, and put the ingredients in the right order. Or at least in an order that felt right.

One of the best things of being a Necromancer was that he worked mostly on instinct. Yes, there were some basic rules you had to follow, and you had to learn some things, but the details were up to you. Every Necromancer had its own way to practise Death Magic. Harry had read somewhere about an ancient Necromancer who'd raised an entire army with only a pinch of salt and a drop of spit. It would take some time before Harry could rise to _that_ level of skill.

It would have been useful, though. Then he wouldn't have to use Snape's laboratory, when the owner himself was trying to glare a hole in Harry's skull.

Harry filled his own golden cauldron with water from the tap.

"Gold, Potter? Is an ordinary pewter one not good enough for the Chosen One?"

Harry ignored Snape's scathing tone. While he sliced some squiggly roots he answered calmly: "Gold is associated with sunrises and phoenixes, among other things. That connection with renewel and rebirth is what I'm looking for. But I don't want them to completely come back, so I need to balance it." The sliced roots made the water a murky brown, which changed to pitchblack after Harry put in some other ingredients. "Necromancy is about death and darkness, yes. But you can't bring someone back with _only_ Death Magic. In a way there's always a life, or a piece of it, that must be sacrificed. That's perhaps the oldest rule in existence."

"I have something better to do than to listen to your babbling, Potter."

"Then why don't you leave? Are you afraid I'll blow up Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Now, Harry, Severus, you're both mature and old enough to stop this silly fighting."

"I'm mature, Snape is just old." Harry looked at the fuming Potions Master. "But you're right, professor Dumbledore. Anyway, I need to focus right now, so please don't disturb me for a while."

"Try not to blow up my dungeons, Potter."

"Oh, I'll _try_..."

:-:

Grave robbing, Harry decided, was a nasty business. He'd gone through all that trouble to dig up seventy bodies, and that was only so he could get started. There still had to follow some creepy incantations, and the vile-smelling potion had to be sprinkled on the bodies, which was all a lot of work for seventy soldiers who would fall apart again after a month or so.

He'd picked a small wizarding graveyard barely anyone knew about anymore. There had been a battle, many centuries ago, and most of the people buried here had died in it. Harry was fairly confident most of the dead here didn't have any living relatives who could be angry at him.

He'd also decided what kind of spirits he would summon to 'live' in the corpses. They had to be dead but not passed on yet, so that did narrow Harry's choices, but he thought he could find enough. There were plenty of ghosts around. He was going to summon those with previous experience fighting a Dark Lord, hoping they would at least be sympathetic to the Light. Of course, there were ways to force them into loyalty, but Harry would rather avoid that... It would be a nasty surprise in a middle of a battle to notice your layalty-insuring spells expiring. You'd only have a minute to curse before your own army stabbed you in the back.

Seven rows of open coffins stared at him, together with the eyes of almost the entire order. Moody's eye was especially unnerving.

"Okay, there we go." Harry took a deep breath and began chanting.

An hour, three Callings to Libitina, eight Requests to Hades, and a lot of awful-smelling potion later, Harry stopped reaching with his magic.

The corpses hadn't even twitched.

Well. That wasn't so good.

He scratched his neck. "It doesn't seem to work... How odd."

There was a silence.

"You messed with these people's remains for _nothing_?"

He smiled a bit embarressed at Hermione. "So it would seem. Err... It's my first time, you know. I really tried."

"_Think_, Harry. Was there something you forgot? Something you didn't do or say?"

"Not that I know of. I did everything by the book." He frowned. "Perhaps I need a pinch of salt..."

"No thanks, unless you've got some fish an' chips to go with it," someone behind him said. Harry turned to look into a face that was only half there. A maggot was worming its way through the remains of a nose.

Harry swallowed. "I guess it worked, then?"

"Obviously, Master. I must say, it's odd having a body again after floathing around for so many years." The zombie lifted something that, a long time ago, maybe resembled a hand. Before the maggots got to it, anyway. He inspected it. "Not exactly the best housing, but I'll manage. This is temporary, right?"

Seventy others were standing behind him, looking a bit forlorn and waiting for someone to explain what was going on.

"Oh, it's temporary, I promise. I'm not depriving anyone of their eternal peace and stuff." Harry smiled uncertainly. It was unreal, seeing seventy zombies being so... _aware_. At least Inferi acted the way you'd expect someone with half a brain (literally) to act. Then again, Inferi didn't house intelligent ghosts.

It was, surprisingly, Ron who thought about something that had completely slipped everyones mind.

"Blimey, Harry. Where are you going to keep them? Grimmauld Place isn't big enough."

Harry blinked. The seventy freshly-rotting zombies waited politely. Harry turned, to look sheepishly at Dumbledore. "Well... there's this place far below Hogwarts... You've heard about the Chamber of Secrets, right?"

:-:


	7. Just like home

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Just like home**

It was a merry, yet foul-smelling group that strolled through the halls of Hogwarts. The word 'strolled' had to be used very loosely, since some of the zombies weren't properly equipped to walk, while others had so much loose bits they left a trail behind that Filch would just _love_ to clean up...

After some problems with hungry Thestrals they had stopped searching for an entry to the Chamber in the Forbidden Forest. Apparently Thestrals didn't mind how long their food had been dead, and this knowledge cost Harry's army two arms and a foot.

Thus Dumbledore reluctantly let them inside the castle. To Harry's surprise most of the professors were present, and they all stared at Harry's merry little band when they passed the Entrance Hall on their way to Myrtle's toilet. When a few of the zombies waved at them, one of the older professors fainted and Sybil Trelawnly screamed, "The dead walk the earth! The dead walk the earth!"

"Yes, Sybil, we can see that," said McGonnagall indifferently. She had been forewarned by Dumbledore, of course.

"Oh dear. Did I just see Mr. Potter passing by?" wondered Flitwick, who hadn't been warned about anything lately. "The _Daily Prophet_ said some disturbing things about him…"

"The _Daily Prophet_ is rubbish," McGonnagall snapped. "You shouldn't believe anything you read in that rag, Filius."

"The proof is walking in front of our noses, Minerva," Spout argued. "Very literally, I might say."

Flitwick's face brightened, possibly at the prospect of all the questions he wanted to ask Mr. Potter. He was, after all, head of Ravenclaw. "There hasn't been a Necromancer in – oh, I don't know… I'd say a least five hundred years!"

"Dear god, Filius, you look like you want to dissect the boy –" Sinistra murmured. Filius started. "Oh, no, of course I wouldn't want to hurt him, just ask a few questions maybe, but –"

"Good," Snape cut him off. "Because if _someone_ is dissecting Potter, it will be _me."_

**:-:**

Dumbledore shivered slightly when Harry hissed the password to the sink. Parseltongue was one of those languages that crawled up and down your spine when you heard it.

Harry stared into the dark hole. Even knowing it wasn't such a long way down, he would have felt better if he had Lockhart nearby to land on, like last time. Ah, well, he'd just have to make do.

"Dead people first!" he ordered happily. While a bunch of deceased flesh and bones wasn't the most appetizing thing to land on, it was better than being buried in them, which would surely happen if Harry went down the slide first and the seventy others followed.

"Is is a long way down?" Dumbledore asked, staring at the hole.

Harry shook his head. "Not really. You fall a little, but then you land on a slide and that goes on for a while, yes. I thinks it's rather deep below Hogwarts, but it all goes rather fast."

"Then I'll go first, if you don't mind," said Dumbledore, politely.

Harry wondered why the Headmaster would want to do that, but it was his school, so... "Go ahead, sir."

The old wizard lowered himself in the hole and disappeared. Harry looked at his little army. "It's your turn."

"I don't know..." One of them, a woman with half a face said. "I'm a bit afraid of heights."

"It's not so high, Master Harry said," another one argued. "Besides, it's a slide. Just like an amusement park!" He didn't wait for a reply and jumped into the hole.

There was a silence. Then, a very small 'ow' could be heard. Harry tried to disguise it with a cough, hoping Dumbledore was alright. "I went down there once myself, it's nothing to be afraid of. Besides, you're dead. What could possibly happen that's worse than what already happened to you?"

"I accidently turned my little sister into a tiger," a zombie that was mostly bones admitted. "Nothing quite beats being eaten by a relative."

"You see? A dark hole in the floor can't be worse than the insides of a tiger," Harry reasoned. The sixty-nine zombies nodded, some of them still a bit unsure, and started jumping into the hole.

Harry waited till the last before he followed his army. The way down was pretty eventless, apart from a small collison with an arm that had apparently got stuck.

The Necromancer landed on a pile of dead bodies, which was a rather soft way to land. "Thanks, guys." He struggled to get off the pile, waving a bit with the arm he'd found. "Which one of you lost this?"

"Darn, I knew I was missing something," one of the zombies said. He took the arm and looked around. "Does anyone happen to have a thread and needle?"

"No, sorry." Harry glanced around. "Where's professor Dumbledore?"

A wrinkled arm arose from the pile of zombies. "Could someone help me up, please?" a muffled voice asked. The majority of the zombies managed to get back on their feet and Dumbledore became visible. Harry helped him up. "I'm sorry sir, we should have waited a bit before following you down here. At least long enough for you to get up."

"I collided with Mr. Dumbledore, Master Harry, and then we couldn't get up fast enough before someone else fell on top of us, and well, you saw what happened..." The zombie shrugged sheepishly.

Dumbledore massaged his poor, old, aching back muscles. The things he had to endure...

"Are you okay, professor?"

He smiled benignly. "I'm fine, Harry."

Harry led them through the darkness, to the actual Chamber. A zombie whistled softly when she saw the shedded Basilisk skin.

It was only when they entered the Chamber and the stench of dead Basilisk attacked their noses, that Harry realised something.

The Basilisk was still here. At least, its corpse was...

:-:

After inspecting the Chamber, Dumbledore made himself a comfortable chair out of thin air and sat down, to watch the proceedings. Sixty-nine zombies were sitting in front of Slytherin's statue, while another zombie was arguing loudly with Harry.

"You killed my Basilisk!"

"It was trying to _eat_ me!"

"I don't care!"

Who would have expected the ghost of Salazar Slytherin to hang around a thousand years, just to wait for the opportunity to inhabit a zombie?

Harry growled. "I'll revive it, okay?"

"You'd better!" The zombie that housed Slytherin's ghost snarled. "And a full revival, not just another zombie. My Sally was a wonderful specimen and she wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Are you deaf? She tried to _eat_ me!"

"I'm sure she had her reasons."

Harry shook his head. "Why did I summon your spirit anyway? The history books claim you _were _a Dark Lord, not that you _fought_ one."

The Slytherin-zombie snorted. "Those history books would say to same about you, idiot. In those days, everyone with a bit of power who practised Dark arts called himself a Lord."

"You're saying you're innocent?"

"Hey now, there's no reason to insult me!" Slytherin smirked. "Besides, I never claimed not to be a Dark Lord."

Harry groaned. "Great. You do know we'll be fighting someone who claims to be your descendant, right?"

Slytherin blinked. "We are?" At Harry's nod, he hesistated. "There's probably no chance you'll change your mind and fight alongside him, I suppose?"

"Seeing as Voldemort's planning to kill all halfbloods, muggleborns, 'blood traitors' and muggles, and I'm a halfblood myself, I'd say: no."

"Is he really planning to kill all of them? There won't be anyone left to rule over!"

"Yes. And he's a halfblood himself."

Slytherin grimaced. "That my noble line should end this way... Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Muggles, but I still think they should be kept away from the Wizarding World. They like burning people too much."

Another zombie butted in. "I thought they didn't manage to burn any real witches? The Flame-Freezing Spell –"

"- is useless if they've taken your wand. Believe me, I know. It's actually how I've died," yet another zombie added.

"Well, the Muggles we have right now are a bit more open-minded," Harry quickly assured them. "They don't burn people anymore." _They might try to dissect them to try and see how magic works, but not all of them would do that,_ he added silently. "Anyway, let me give you guys a short briefing. We're fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I know you're from different times, but all of you have fought a Dark Lord at some point in your life. You've got experience in fighting maniacs who want to take over the world. I suggest you share that experience and get used to the bodies you're inhabiting, so you'll be ready to fight. You know we're below a school, so I'd appreciate if neither of you goes wandering the hallways. Well, except at night, if you encounter Filch try to hug him, he'd love that –"

"Harry!" Dumbledore admonished him. Harry smiled sheepishly. "Forget I just said that. Err... Oh, I suppose you're new to this zombie thing? Well, you won't be able to use any magic yourselves, but you'll be highly resistant to it. And please try not to fall apart before the battle."

"We'll do our best," the zombie who'd lost his arm promised. "Could you get me some thread and a needle, Master?"

"And when are you going to revive my Sally?"

"Master, could you get us some chairs or something, my legs are a bit loose and if I have to get up from the floor –"

"We'd appreciate some books, Master Harry –"

"Master –"

Dumbledore smiled when he saw how cornered Harry looked, trying to listen to everyone at the same time. He rose from his chair, disspelled it, and walked over to the young Necromancer.

When he was sure he got Harry's attention, he said: "Since I see you're busy, I'll arrange for someone else to get your books and other necessities."

Harry blinked. "Wait. Books?"

"Of course. You do know that school is about to start? Tomorrow is the first of Septembre."

Harry got the classic 'deer-in-headlights' look on his face. "School?"

"Yes, of course. You did miss a year, but I'm sure you'll manage." Dumbledore smiled. "And I'll see to it that some equipment for your guests will be delivered in front of the sink upstairs. Oh, don't bother showing me the way out, Fawkes will carry me."

He turned his back to Harry and the zombies, and smiled even wider, his eyes twinkling like mad.

:-:-:


	8. Instant Trouble, Just Add Harry

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Instant Trouble! Just add Harry.**

Hermione carefully folded the piece of cloth she'd used to slide down the pipe without getting dirty, and tucked it into her backpack. She had promised Harry to bring down some books for him, that's why he had left the entrance to the Chamber open. When school started he would have to close it again, because even in the unlikely event a student would go to Myrthle's bathroom, they couldn't risk some unsuspecting student stumbling upon Harry's Headquarters.

Hermione was sure Harry was a great leader. The whole business with Dumbledore's Army should have been enough proof for that. At first she had felt a little unsure about Harry's use of the Dark Arts, but after reading up on Necromancers she'd been rather relieved.

In the old magical communities Necromancers hadn't been as rare. There had been a few dozen all around the world, most of them concentrated in Atlantis. According to the books Hermione had read Necromancers were prone to losing control of their abilities when they felt an extreme emotion, which was why the Atlantean Council of 893 B.C. had decided all Necromancer should wear pins to identify themselves, so people knew who they shouldn't anger. Through the years those skull-shaped pins had become standard equipment for a Necromancer. They were given to them when they finished their studies, as a symbol of their craft. Like ordinairy wizards and witches had their pointed hats, the Enchanters of the Dead had their pins.

And it worked. People weren't as afraid of the Dark Arts in those days, but believed in balancing Light and Dark. Actually, the whole restriction on the Dark Arts had only appeared around the eighteen hundreds... And the fact the book she'd read this in was borrowed from the library in Grimmauld place, wasn't a good sign either. Did only the "Dark" families remember the past, where magic was balanced properly?

It made Hermione think twice about some things she'd never doubted before.

These heavy thoughts were disturbed by the sound of savage screaming en cursing coming from the stone doorway that gave entrance to the actual Chamber.

Hermione frowned, and decided that Harry's army was probably training their techniques. She could already imagine them sparring, using weapons and methods from times far past...

She stepped into the Chamber, and blinked.

The floor was covered with a mega-sized version of _Twister_, and sixty-nine living corpses were standing, lying and hanging in different poses. Somewhere inside the mass of intertwined zombies Hermione could make out Harry's black hair. Everyone was yelling and screaming at eachother – some were giggling instead – and Harry's voice was easily the loudest. "That's cheating! You're not supposed to twist off your left leg so you can glue it to the blue circle!"

The only zombie who hadn't joined in with the game appeared next to Hermione. "Childish, isn't it? In my days these inane games didn't even exist." He turned to Hermione. "The name is Slytherin, by the way. Call me Salazar." Elegantly, he took her hand and brought it to his mouth to brush his lips on it. It would have been much more endearing if he'd still have something that resembled lips. The same went for his hand, by the way.

Hermione swallowed, and forced herself to smile politely. "Ah. Er- Sure. Hermione. That's my name, I mean. Um. Nice to meet you, er- Salazar."

"You're so eloquent, Lady Hermione," the Slytherin-zombie murmured.

Hermione, despite Slytherin's appearance, had to fight down a blush and smiled a bit wider. Desperately, she turned her attention back to the game of _Twister_. She cleared her throat. "A-_hum_. Harry?"

Something stirred in the pile of bodies, and Harry Potter managed to crawl out of it. "I'm done with this, you all cheat anyway!" He yelled to the remaining participants, and then smiled sheepishly to Hermione. "Hi."

"Why exactly are you playing children's games when you should be training your army to face Voldemort?" She asked, with an eyebrow raised expertly.

"Um. To train their flexibility?"

Hermione shook her head, sighing. Just a moment ago she'd been thinking what a strong leader Harry could be...

"I have the books you wanted." She opened her backpack and took them out. "Now I really have to get back. My Portkey back home is set to go off at eight, and I still have to meet with the Headmaster beforehand."

"If you tap the wall next to the pipe it will turn into a stairway," Harry told her. He smiled, taking the books. "Thanks for bringing me these. I know you'll be busy, being Head Girl and all."

Hermione blushed a bit. "Well, I still don't know why the Headmaster found me suitable, but – anyway, I have to go. See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Hermione was just watching the slide growing stairs when she heard Harry yelling something to her. "Oh, and playing _Twister_ was entirely Dumbledore's idea!"

Yes, she admitted. She could believe _that_.

:-:-:

Harry hadn't been on the train, and he wasn't at the station, where everyone except the first years stepped into the coaches. Hermione reasoned he had just stayed at the castle, and she told so to Ginny when the girl pestered her about it.

"Honestly, he'll be waiting in the Great Hall. Why would he go to King's Cross just to board a train that would bring him back to where he already is?"

Harry, however, wasn't in the Great Hall. The Sorting was already finished and Ron was eating his way through a stack of chicken nuggets when the doors of the Great Hall opened and the dark-robed figure slipped inside. A hush fell over the students, who all stared at Harry. Some looked obviously fearful, while others – mostly the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins – stared at him with almost hungry, calculating looks. Hushed conversations sprung up, without doubt about the cloaked wizard making his way to Gryffindor table.

Harry for his part didn't pay the whispers and stares any attention. His stride was purposeful, his skull-shaped pins glinting in the light of the candles, everything about him saying that no, he wasn't dead, and yes, the rumours were true.

It was only after he dropped himself - rather unelegantly - into the seat Ron and Hermione had saved for him, that they noticed how weary he looked.

"I know it isn't nice of me, but I wish Voldemort would hurry up with attacking," he murmured to them. "I'm going mad."

"Having trouble with your army, mate?" Ron asked, his grin belying his sympathetic tone of voice. Harry just stared at him, tired to the bone.

Hermione huffed. "I'm sure they can't be that bad."

"Clearly, you're not the one having to live with them. In the same chambers. For the _whole – bloody – day_," he stressed.

"Cheer up, you won't have to put up with them all day, not now school has started." Ron patted Harry's back.

The young Necromancer glanced around, at the hundreds of faces who stared at him and talked in hushed tones. "Yeah, that really cheers me up."

:-:-:

Classes were horrible. Harry had to balance his time between those, the meetings with his army, making homework. Eating and sleeping were optional. Luckily, this all meant he couldn't play Twister with the zombies again. They were forced to discuss battle tactics on his meetings with them.

Harry's exhaustion didn't make the classes any more bearable. It was bad enough he had missed a year. Sure, he'd studied the darkest of Dark Arts, with only a flick of his wrist he could summon the most horrible of demons, but that didn't make Transfiguring his rabbit into a flowerpot any easier.

The way everyone kept gazing at him wasn't helping, either.

It had been a week, for Death's sake! Couldn't they just get over it? So what if he'd disappeared for a year, was proclaimed dead, and returned as a Necromancer? That wasn't such a big thing, right?

Well, now he thought about it...

But surely a week should have been enough for everyone to get over their worry? He was sick of feeling like a bloody television all the time!

He was in a foul mood when he walked to Potions - how he'd gotten an O in the subject was anyones guess – and seeing Snape didn't improve his mood in the slightest.

Events even worsened after that.

Snape entered his room full of NEWT-students with a wooden box in his arms. Harry heard the hissing, and knew what Snape was planning.

"We're brewing the Rigmarole Potion today. Take your textbooks on page twenty-five and start. When you've arrived at the proper stage in your brewing, come to me to obtain one of these adders. The instructions how to strip their skin are in the book. Get started."

Harry heard the hissed discussions of the adders, like most snakes wondering when they were going to get fed and why the sun was gone, and he'd had enough. He raised his hand. "Sir?"

Snape fixed him with a dark look. "What is it, Mr. Potter? Have you forgotten how to open a book, maybe?"

Harry ignored it. "Sir, it's against school rules to make us kill living creatures in any class. The skins should already have been prepared."

The Potions Master narrowed his eyes dangerously, and stalked towards Harry. "Are you telling me how to teach my class, Mr. Potter?"

Another, different kind of hissing was added to the sounds of the dungeon room. Harry recognized it, but paid it no attention. "The rules clearly state –"

"I'm sure you of all people should have no problem with killing," Snape interrupted him smoothly. "Or do you, perhaps, wish to take those specimens as your pets? I must say, though, adders are not popular familiars to future Dark Lords. They lack that imposing quality..."

The students tried to hide beneath their desks or cauldrons. Some of them simply fled to the corner of the room as far from the door as possible. It had nothing to do with Harry's anger or Snape's cutting remarks, but rather with the dark shape that appeared in the doorway. Snape stood with his back to it and thus didn't notice it, wrapped up as he was with insulting Harry.

Harry coldly met Snape's eyes. He refused to back down, no matter what the greasy git said. "I already have a familiar, besides my owl, sir. Sally is a wonderful pet, even though she's blind."

Snape sneered and wanted to reply – the words died in his throat when something tickled in his back. He turned around, slowly, to meet the blinded stare of a huge green snake, which was flicking its tongue at him. It was doing its best to slide entirely into the dungeon, but 50 feet of snake was just too much for the room to hold.

"Professor Snape, meet Sally. I'm pretty sure she heard those poor adders you've captured and decided to investigate. :_Sally, you can go, I'll handle it:_," he hissed the last in Parseltongue. The Basilisk turned her head at him, and carefully started to slither out of the room again.

A Huffelpuf girl whimpered. One of the Ravenclaw boys had fainted. Hermione looked uneasy, but the real surprise was Snape. The Potions Professor had completly frozen. Without turning around, he ordered: "Class dismissed. I want two scrolls on the use of the Rigmarole Potion in combination with Cheering Solutions before next lesson. Get out."

The students hurried with packing their cauldrons away. Before Harry could leave, Snape's voice stopped him. The man still hadn't moved much. "Potter, fifty points from Gryffindor. Take your stupid snakes now and I fully well expect you to pay for them."

Harry smiled slightly, knowing when to pick his battles, and with the box full of hissing adders he left the classroom.

Sally had already slithered back into the pipes but was still nearby. He could hear her faintly. There had to be some secret entrance somewhere close to the Potions classroom, he decided. There was no way a 50 feet Basilisk could have glided through the hallways without being seen, all the way from Myrthle's toilet to the dungeons.

Ah, well. At least it had made Snape shut up. He would have to think about a way to reward Sally...

:-:-:-:


	9. Battle Time

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Battle Time**

The Slytherin zombie had been glad to accept the box with adders. When Harry told him what Snape had been planning for the snakes, he even squeeked – quite girly, in fact. Of course, this he denied. It had been a very manly squeek. Really.

Meanwhile, Harry had other things to worry about. A restless feeling had taken charge of his body and mind, making him pace and snap at people. Ginny had even run away crying, and was still angry with him for yelling at her. He knew he shouldn't have yelled – sure, she had messed up his concentration, but it had been a very basic spell – and yet, he couldn't help himself. It was, he thought sourly, as if all his senses were screaming at him to be alert.

All his senses.

He stopped pacing so suddenly he nearly tripped over his own feet. _Al his senses._ Of course! His finely tuned mental Sneakoscope was going haywire, his training telling him in all possible ways: there were going to be many deaths, and soon. That had to mean Voldemort was planning an attack.

Harry turned around and set out to Dumbledore's office. He'd better warn the Headmaster.

:-:-:

The day crept forward. It seemed to go on forever, every minute a tiny eternity compressed into sixty seconds. Harry had told his army to get ready, and was now on his way to the Room of Requirements. The Order of the Phoenix would have an emergency meeting there.

Dumbledore was walking next to Harry. The old wizard felt an increasing worry, and it wasn't entirely because of the pending battle. No, it was because of Harry, who was acting decidedly odd.

The Necromancer had his eyes half closed, and kept turning his head left to right and back again.

Harry angled his face towards another current in the complex flows of spirit energies. The nearing battle promised to be one with many fatalities, and the magic in the air smelled of it. Even though it hadn't happened yet, Hogwarts responded to the deaths that would take place on her grounds. Death magic was always a bit off, temporally. The power generated by many deaths always leaked into the recent past as well as in the future. For someone with the right nose, Hogwarts reeked of Death Magic.

The power flows reacted with Harry, mingling with his own magic, making him a bit light-headed. The magic reacted with his, worrying at the bonds that kept his soul attached to his body.

Dumbledore openly frowned at Harry when the young man seemed to walk faster than his body. A faintly glowing shadow was moving just that little bit quicker, letting the body follow it sluggishly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, stopping. Harry stopped too, his body catching up with his soul and flowing together again. "What is it, professor?"

Dumbledore just shook his head. "Never mind." He resumed walking. Harry's ghostly being became visible again.

This frightened some of the Order members, and made Moody grumble even more. When Harry asked what the problem was, Hermione softly advised him to wave his hand in front of his face.

Harry stared with a worried frown at his own hand, the corporeal, flesh-and-blood one following the glowing one. "Oh, _Merlin!_ This isn't supposed to happen yet!"

"Can you explain what is happening to you?" Kingsley asked.

Harry grimaced. "The next level of Necromancy, probably triggered by the coming battle. It would appear I'm half-dead."

There was silence after this. That is, until Snape raised an eyebrow. "Only half? More's the pity."

"You do know I could easily rip your soul from your body when I'm like this?" Harry casually mentioned. "Not that I'm threathening you, but let's just say that it's not in your best interests to keep annoying me." Another sigh. "This is bad news. For me, at least."

"Why?" Sirius asked. "It's a good thing if you're getting more powerful, right?"

"Yeah, but the next level is fully-dead. And I doubt He will let me leave a second time."

Half the Order panicked at this, especially Sirius, who started yelling that if Death wanted his Godson, He should fight it out with him! But Harry tried to quiet them – there weren't there to talk about him, after all.

"There'll be a battle," he reminded them. "We should focus on that."

:-:

They were coming.

Darkness had fallen, and all was quiet in Hogsmeade. All lights in the town had gone out when the small hand of the clock passed the twelve. Yet the villagers weren't asleep.

Some of them – mostly children – had taken refugee in Hogwarts. But the majority was with the Order and Harry, waiting in the shadows until evil showed its fangs.

Wands were clasped tightly in sweaty hands. There were some Aurors present, the only ones the Ministry could spare at such a short notice. Harry ignored the glares and frightful glances he was recieving. His head had cleared, and his magic was poised to attack. Behind him, his Army of the Dead waited in silence.

Not everyone had believed Harry's warning that the attack would come today. Some of the more stubborn wizards had waited until half past ten, and then went back to their houses.

But Harry was absolutely certain. They were coming – with Death in their wake.

It happened at half past one. What seemed to be thousands of crows dropped from the sky, diving over the village and dropping odd little packages, which exploded when they hid the ground. The battle for Hogsmeade had started.

Harry started firing spells at the crows, but picking them off one by one wasn't an effective tactic. They just kept coming, with more and more packages.

It had been an effective way to make the defenders of Hogsmeade reveal themselves. While they were shooting at the birds, their attention on the sky, a group of black robed Death Eaters entered the village. Harry wasn't the only one to notice them. He tried Stunning them at first, which didn't seem to work. Perhaps they had amulets to fend off the Stunning Spell? Then he would have to try something else...

He shot off an ugly blue spell, aptly named the Suffocation Curse. The reviever didn't even stumble.

No way an amulet was _that_ powerful! It had to be something else, but what –

The thick smell of Death Magic surrounded him. Inferi! Those he could deal with easily – but now he had to call back his army, which had just reached the ranks of the Inferi and was spending precious energy on them.

Harry called back his zombies, concentrating on the Inferi. He spread his arms, the ghostly image of them just visible. Focus, Harry...

The young Necromancer screamed. It was a truly chilling sound, a screech far beyond mortal. Those who heard it, shivered. The Inferi started to desintegrate, becoming no more than mere dust.

Voldemort knew Harry was a Necromancer. Why then had he send Inferi, creatures that shouldn't be a problem for him?

Harry turned around, right in time to avoid the Killing Curse that had been speeding towards him. Death Eaters! They had used the Inferi as a diversion, so they could sneak around him and catch him when he was unaware.

A crow dived above his head, and dropped its bomb. Harry had to jump to one side to avoid the explosion, where a Death Eater aimed a spell at him. All Harry's careful training seemed to have fled his mind.

Where was everyone? Everyxhere he looked, he only saw Death Eaters, crows and shadows. The Death Magic hung heavily in the air, being fed by every life that ended. Screams, moving shadows, flashes of spells...

Harry ducked for another green Curse, and got his mind enough in order to duel back. It was difficult. His recent promotion to half-dead had made it harder for him to regulate his power levels, making some curses either too weak or too strong. He wasn't used to it yet, and if this kept up, he wouldn't ever get used to it...

Where did all those Death Eaters keep _coming_ from? They couldn't all be real... It had to be a nightmare, that would explain why everything was getting so hazy and muffled...

The crows where flying around him, closer and closer. He fired yet another spell at yet another Death Eater, until his wand had disappeared into the moving, feathered mass that were the crows, their beaks and talons cutting his flesh. He threw out his ghostly arms and felt those going _through_ the crows, _through_ the Death Eaters that had been hidden by their nearness, and he noticed something inside them giving way, ripped apart by his glowing hands.

But it wasn't enough. The crows kept coming, the spells flashed around his head, he barely evaded a falling bomb...

In the dark, moving mass, a pale face emerged. Serpentine eyes smiled at him.

Harry didn't duck in time.

The world went brilliant green.

:-:-:

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!


	10. Life or Death?

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Life or Death?**

Imagine a place made of shadows and cold. An entire world frozen in time, where stone forests grow and a silver river curls around the lifeless trees. Its water sparkles, yet it is clear enough to see the round stones at its stream bed. Stones, all oddly resembling eachother in shape, with small holes... The water calls to the travellers, urging them to drink and forget. To drink and continue their travels in eternity, or perhaps to be reborn...

Imagine the source of this stream, a silent pool of silver magic. A window to the past and future of the world, of _any_ world.

Now, imagine a person standing in the water, calling ripples into being.

And someone else, saying: "Aw, com'on! You can't be serious!"

The being in the pool turns around, grinning. Not like it has any choice in this, though. "**You had your chance. You knew what would happen when you faced your nemesis."**

"It's not fair. Fate said I would be protected for one more Killing Curse! I shouldn't be here."

"**That one Killing Curse you're referring to was the one you recieved before you first came here. The second one of your existence."**

"That's not the way I understood it."

"**Then you understood wrong."**

The young man sighs. "Please. I can't just let Voldemort take over. There's got to be something I can do to fix this."

"**There isn't."**

"Are you _sure?" _The young man blushes a bit, embarrassed. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound so accusing. But please, my Lord Death, I cannot abandon my friends like this. They need me."

"**That is true."**

"Then why can't you let me return to life? Just for a while, to set things right?"

Death seems to consider his words. "**If I do this for you, My Necromancer, other souls would demand the same. Thus I cannot let you leave."**

"I thought you favored your Servants?"

"**I do. You have returned to life two times."**

"As a baby and then a year ago, I know. Would it be such a problem to make it three times?" He is grasping at straws and he knows it. But how can he give up?

The water is calling him too, whispering of reincarnation, or eternal peace. To be reunited with his family... The silver ripples promise this, and more...

And leave his _other_ family to die in Voldemort's hands.

"Can't we make some kind of deal?"

That catches Death's attention. "**What kind of deal do you propose?"**

"I have already promised to free the Dementors. Send me back, and I'll fulfill my vow." He clasps his hands tightly, hoping, _praying_...

The silence seems to go on forever, even here, where time does not exist.

Then:

"**Yes."**

:-:-:

Hogsmeade was in ruins. The Death Eaters had left at dawn, taking their crows and other monsters with them. The streets that should be filled with happy children on a shopping trip were instead full of bodies. Most of the casualties were on the villager's side, but Hogwarts had some losses too.

Professor Sinistra had taken a nasty curse to the chest, dying of heart failure.

Filch had died, though no one knew why he hadn't just remained at Hogwarts, since he'd been a Squib. He hadn't died in vain, though: his attack with cleaning products had blinded many a Death eater, and their awful chemical smells had chased away a lot of the crows.

There was Emmeline Vance, who had fought bravely to protect the house of one of the villagers.

And Harry Potter. Their young Necromancer, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One.

They'd found him buried beneath the corpses of Death Eaters and crows, as dead as they were. No one had wanted to believe it, yet everyone knew it to be true. His zombies had fallen at the moment of his decease, after all. Without Harry's power as an anchor, the ghosts they housed couldn't remain any longer.

The bodies would have to be buried soon. Already the Thestrals of the Forbidden Forest were attracted by the smell – wards had to be put up to avoid the flying horses from ripping apart the dead.

Many wizards Apparated In, to pick up fallen family members and give them a decent burial. But there were always those who didn't have anyone to bury them.

Filch got a short, quiet funeral, attended by Dumbledore and – suprisingly - the entire staff, and most of the student body of Hogwarts. Nobody had liked Filch when he'd been alive. Now the rumour of his bravery had gone around, and many wanted to say goodbye.

Now they were planning Harry's funeral. The Ministry insisted there'd be reporters present, and officials, and the rewarding of an posthumously Order of Merlin, Second Class. Everyone who'd known Harry protested against this: they knew he would have wanted a quiet, private service. Even without Fudge, the Ministry could be a real pain in the nether regions.

Scrimgour said a public funeral would benefit the people, giving them the opportunity to mourn their fallen hero. Sirius asked where these people had been when they were battling – they hadn't done anything to _help_ Harry, had they? Their quarreling was loud enough to raise the dead.

In this case, litterally. Both men stopped yelling at eachother when the subject of their fight sat up in his coffin, yawning.

"Good morning everyone. Hm. I didn't know Hogwarts had a chapel?"

"Harry!"

"_Urk..._ You're suffocating me, Sirius!"

"Sorry." His Godfather apologized, but didn't let go of him. Harry was a bit embarrassed to find Sirius was sobbing on his shoulder. He ackwardly patted the man. "I'm fine, Sirius. Honestly. A bit thirsty maybe, but that's all."

Sirius reacted immediatly. "I'll get you some water," he said.

Harry waited a moment, but Sirius didn't let go. "Er, Sirius? I won't disappear, you know."

Scrimgeour came to stand next to Harry's coffin. Now the shock had worn off for him, he was frowning, apparently displeased.

"You should worry about how the public will react to this," he murmured. "Dark Arts and Necromancy was bad enough, but actually becoming alive again... There was enough trouble when you brought back the Weasley boys."

Sirius was too caught up in his feelings to hear the new Minister's remark. Harry did hear it, and he couldn't care less about it. "Frankly, sir, I don't care about the public opinion. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

He managed to worm his way out of Sirius' embrace, and stepped out of his coffin. While he did so, Minister Scrimgeour's brows shot up in surprise. "Mr Potter, what have you _done? _What kind of nefarious Immortality rituals could have an effect like this?"

Harry looked at him, wondering why the man was so unsettled. The movement brought the answer: his soul was still a millisecond faster than his mortal body. To the human eye it looked quite uncanny.

"Nothing more than a deal with Death," he answered honestly. "I have to go now. Don't forget to cancel the burial."

:-:-:

The people in the hallway who saw Harry were more than a bit spooked, but no more so than his friends, who gave him a tearful welcome.

Madame Pomphrey insisted on a complete physical examination, which Harry grudgingly submitted to. She came soon to a disquieting conclusion.

"Mr Potter... How do you feel?"

He pondered the question for a moment. "Excellent, actually. Energized."

"Not tired at all?"

"No, more the reverse, actually. Why? Is there something wrong?"

The nurse was quiet. Finally: "Everything is. Get no readings on your vital sings, like pulse, breathing, brain activity... Anything. For all medical purposes, you are dead." She took a deep breath. "And et you don't have the same magical residue as a corpse. You appear to be frozen, for lack of a better word, in an in-between state, which your magic is maintaining."

Harry groaned. "Great. Just bloody wonderful. There goes my last chance at a normal life when this is over. Before you know it, the Daily Prophet will be calling me 'Zombie-Boy' in their headlines."

"I'm glad I'm not you, mate," Ron sympathized.

"Gee, Ron, thanks."

:-:-:

_A/N: A rather short and boring chapter, but I didn't want to leave you with that cliffhanger for the next three weeks, because I'm slow with updating. Next chapter: Angels of Death._


	11. Wings

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort. _

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Angels of Death**

His Master was in a good mood.

This alone was extraordinary enough to make Wormtail worry. People tended to suffer in more creative ways when his Master was in a good mood.

Lord Voldemort was calmly drawing symbols on the dungeon floor. He was using his wand to trace burning lines on the stone, but on some places he switched to using his own blood.

Which worried Wormtail even more. In all his years of service to the Dark Lord, he'd never seen him doing this. Usually someone else's blood was used, with or without their cooperation.

The other thing what made Wormtail uneasy was the fact that he was alone with his Master. The drawings on the floor could be part of a ritual to summon demons. Demons tended to demand sacrifices.

His Master seemed to be finished: he righted his back, and surveyed the symbols with proud red eyes. "What do you think, Wormtail?" he hissed.

Wormtail shuddered. His Master never truly asked his opinion – what should he say? "It- it is impressive, My Lord."

Lord Voldemort laughed coldly at this. "It is, though of course a fool like you would never recognize its significance." He gestured to his creation. "This, Wormtail, is what will enable me to harness the powers of Necromancy. Do you know, rat, what made the ancient Necromancers so terrifying to ordinary wizards?"

Wormtail shook his head. "N-no, My Lord."

A lazy smile spread on Voldemort's pale face. "I didn't think you would. They were feared, Wormtail, because they _couldn't be killed_. It was in their ability to make a deal with Death, so they could return and live forever. They are Death's favored."

Then why weren't there any Necromancers around any more, except for the Potter boy? Wormtail wondered. If they were immortal, were had they gone?

Lord Voldemort hissed, displeased. "Do you doubt my words? Do not forget I read your mind, Wormtail. Your pitiful defences are useless against me. _Crucio_."

When Wormtail stopped screaming, Voldemort seemed to be in a calmer mood. "They gave up immortality because they were weak. Like you, Wormtail. They had all this power, and gave it up for the sake of their _loved ones_." He spat those words out, as if they burned his tongue. "But _I _shall not be weak."

He went to stand in the middle of the symbols, and spread his arms. "Bring me the potion, Wormtail."

As Wormtail obeyed, his Master laughed again. "It is most amusing the key to Immortality should lie in the blood of my enemy, Harry Potter. Blood I have taken from him, now flowing in my veins. The blood of a Necromancer." A short pause. "It was simply meant to be."

:-:-:

"Would you stop pestering me? No, I'm not dead. Just because I don't breathe and have no pulse doesn't mean I'm dead. Besides, why are you so interested? Are you discriminating against zombies?"

The Fat Friar quickly excused himself and floathed away, eager to escape Harry's annoyed look. Harry had a reason to be annoyed. It weren't only the ghosts who kept bothering him. He'd recieved a lot of mail in the past few days, most of them expressing how glad they were about him still being alive. If they only knew exactly how 'alive' he was... And the other students had been avoiding him too. He couldn't really blame them: he knew he was a creepy sight, with his soul moving before he did. But it still would have been nice if everybody understood that he _wasn't_ dead, and he wasn't undead either. Just... in-between.

"I'm glad you're accompanying me, sir," he said to Headmaster Dumbledore, who was walking beside him. "Perhaps you'll keep the reporters away for a little while."

His plan was easy: go to the Ministry, convince them to give up the Veil, bring the Veil to Azkaban, and let the Dementors go. See? Easy.

If only it could be as easy in reality.

He just _knew_ the Ministry wouldn't want to give up the Veil. And of course there would be reporters, as soon as he left the sanctuary of Hogwarts. Reporters who would follow his every move, who'd remark on his odd appearance, who'd speculate on his motivation for coming to the Ministry. And there would be at least _one_ who would think he was there to bring down the Ministry and become the next Dark Lord. There always was.

:-:-:

As it turned out, Dumbledore's presence didn't keep the reporters away. Harry's own freakishness did that. When they entered the Atrium, it had been filled with reporters: after a few angry glances from Harry, they had disappeared faster than you could say 'Quidditch'.

Scrimgeour, who had been elected after Fudge got de-souled, was already expecting them: this was obvious from the amount of Aurors guarding them the moment they'd entered the Ministry. There were six of them, all muscled and with their wands and eyes trained on Harry.

"Oh my, are you Mr Cyclopine? I nearly didn't recognize you! Congratulations on making it as an Auror. You had a nice number of OWL's in your sixth year, if I'm not mistaken," Dumbledore pleasantly greeted one of them. The Auror blushed a bit, and nodded. "Ten, sir."

"Very good."

Dumbledore and Harry reached the Minister's office. Three Aurors squeezed into the doorway before the other three let Harry and Dumbledore go inside, after which they too followed.

Scrimgeour wasn't happy to see them. "Why this pleasant surprise?" he greeted them, his voice dry. "Dumbledore," he shook the Headmaster's hand. "Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour didn't even hesistate before also shaking Harry's hand. "Take a seat."

They did so. Harry would have taken a deep breath, but since he didn't beathe anymore, he started without it: "Minister, I need the Veil."

"You don't beat around the bushes," Scrimgeour remarked. "The Veil is a dangerous, ancient artifact. Why should I give it to you?"

"Because I know who it belongs to."

Scrimgeour raised a brow. "And who would that be?"

Harry ignored that question. "You use it to control the Dementors, don't you?"

"This information is not open to the regular public, but yes, we do. What of it?"

"I am the only one here who understands the true nature of the Veil. It was stolen from the Dementors, and is forever linked to them. They must get it back."

Scrimgeour snorted. "What a foolish idea! We wouldn't be able to control them anymore! Why would it be good to unleash those monsters? They'd Kiss everyone they saw. Not everyone knows the Patronus Charm. Do you want so many deaths on your conscience, Mr Potter?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. He'd been following the discussion closely, but thought it better to let Harry work it out for himself. However, now was time to act. "We are not sure how the Dementors wil react," he reminded Scrimgeour. "If they prove to be harmful, we can take the Veil back, I believe. The question is, how many death's will surely happen if Voldemort wins?"

"That has nothing to do with –"

"Yes, it does. It has all to do with this. Minister, you know Harry died. Of course there would be a price for his return. If you don't give the Veil to the Dementors, Death shall take him again. That would leave us without anyone to oppose Voldemort."

"There are plenty of people who oppose him –"

"And only Harry fits the Prophecy."

Harry couldn't help a short laugh. "Neither can live while the other survives. It has become quite literal, don't you think?"

Scrimgeour was not amused. "So what you're saying, Dumbledore, is that I get to choose between giving up the Veil, possibly allowing the Dementors to make many victims, or letting Voldemort win."

"True. It's your choice."

Scrimgeour sneered. "You meddling old man. I will need to speak to the Department Heads about this."

:-:-:

Three days later, the Veil was delivered to Hogwarts. The stone archway had been carefully transported from its place in the Departement of Mysteries, and now it stood on Hogwarts' lawn, with several Unspeakables, professors and curious students staring at it.

"How do you propose we bring this to Azkaban, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, with an uneasy glance at the fluttering cloth.

Harry closed his eyes. The voices from behind the Veil called for him, but that wasn't the only thing he noticed...

"We won't have to. They're coming."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, and ordered the faculty members present to take the students inside. He gripped his wand.

Harry noticed. "Don't use the Patronus. Please, Professor. Trust me."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then nodded again. "I do, Harry. I truly believe I do."

The light of the sun seemed to become weaker, more diffused, until Hogwarts' grounds appeared grey. A horrifying coldness was nearing, mist in its wake.

The Unspeakables huddled together, each brandishing their wands. Dumbledore spoke to them.

Harry couldn't pay attention to them. He was solely focused on the approaching grey shapes. His magic responded to theirs, making it difficult to keep his head clear.

The Dementors slowed in front of Harry. The weak sunlight enhanced their ugliness, the rotten flesh, the eyeless faces. There were so many of them... Harry hadn't realized so many existed.

The tallest one stepped towards the young Necromancer.

One of the Unspeakables lost his nerve. "Expecto-" Before he could finish the spell, a curse had left Harry's lips and the man fell in a Full Body-Bind.

Harry put away his wand, and bowed for the first Dementor. "By dust and shadow I greet you, Your Majesty."

To his surprise, the Dementor bowed back. **Childe Necromancer, a Childe no more. We greet you, He-Who-Walks-In-Death.**

Harry swallowed at the title. Well, technically it was true. He was dead, and he walked around. Yet the way the Dementor said it gave it another meaning, something... else.

Also, it reminded him a bit of silly titles like 'You-Know-Who', and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'.

"I swore by ash and wave to return the Veil to you," he spoke. "And this I do now, without requiring anything else from you."

The Queen of the Dementors paused. **Why?** It asked. **Why now, when you could force us into aiding your battle against the Red Serpent?**

"I would never have forced your cooperation. I believe in free will. But yes, Your Majesty, I would have waited until after the battle, for this is a busy time for warriors." Harry smiled faintly. "This is the doing of the Master of us all. He wishes for you to return to his side."

There was a movement in the ranks of the Dementors, a ripple of something – excitement? Was that even possible?

**The Master wished for us? You speak the truth.** It sounded almost surprised. **Then we are free at last.**

Harry gestured towards the Veil. "It is yours."

The Dementor Queen turned to one of its brethen. **Go,** it urged. **Some are born in this foul prison, unaware of our former glory. Now this glory can be reattained. Go, all of you, and be released.**

For a moment, nothing happened. The world held its breath.

One of the Dementors floathed towards the Veil, and went through it.

What emerged at the other side of the archway wasn't the deformed, disgusting thing that had entered: no, it was something faint and airy, a beautiful creature of light and dust and shadow, with slender, transparant wings that beat in the same wind that made the cloth of the Veil flutter. It glowed and sparkled in the air, showering the world with a feeling of peace and calm. Then it took off into the sky. For a moment it was visible as a ray of sunlight; then it winked out of existence.

Harry felt wetness on his face, and realized he was crying.

The Dementors made a line in front of the Veil, and each of the foul creatures was transformed into their true, original form, the one they'd had before wizardkind bound them with the Veil. They became angels, the Angels of Death, whose job it was to guide the restless souls to their proper place in afterlife. If wizards had never bound them, no ghosts would exist, no poltergeists.

After what seemed like an eternity, and still was too soon for something so beautiful to end, all the Dementors had passed the Veil. Well, almost all.

The Queen of the Dementors turned to Harry. **You could join us, Master Necromancer. **

Harry looked at the Veil. He smiled sadly. "I know."

The last Dementor inclined its head – then it, too, stepped through the Veil, and became wind and light.

"Well, that was it then." Harry said softly, turning to the amazed Unspeakables, the solemn Dumbledore. "They're free again."

As if those words were a cue, the Veil started to crumple. In moments it was nothing more than dust.

:-:-:


	12. Hogwarts' Necromancer

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. It's time to get ready for the war with Voldemort. _

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Hogwarts' Necromancer**

It was a pensive Harry that stood leaning against the wall. He was in the hallway to Dumbledore's office, to yet again plan for the possibility of Voldemort's next attack. But he needed a moment to rest. Just one moment of peace and quiet, to think about what had happened that day...

The Dementors were gone, and so was the Veil. Until Fate needed it again, at least.

Nearly Headless Nick drifted by. Harry nodded at him. "Sir Nicholas."

Nick stopped, turned, and bowed for Harry. "Hello, Master Necromancer."

Harry frowned. "Shouldn't one of Death's Angels have taken you to your rest by now?"

Sir Nicholas shook his head sadly. "I believe they have quite a lot of work to catch up on. It may be years before we, ghosts of Hogwarts, are given peace."

"Oh. Well, they'll come eventually." Nick looked so sad, Harry really pitied him. He got an idea. "Hey, Nick, do you still want to join the Headless Hunt?"

Nick's face brightened. "If it isn't too much trouble..."

"It isn't. Hover a bit lower, will you?" Harry murmered a few words and saw his wand start to glow with the same ghost-light he had when he moved. A short slashing motion, and Nearly Headless Nick was now Fully Headless.

The floating head beamed at him. "Thank you, Master Necromancer!"

"No problem, Sir Nicholas."

It was a small thing, but one happy face was enough to make Harry feel a little bit better. All the planning and preparing for battle... It was getting to him.

:-:

Wormtail shuddered at the harsh, gutteral sounds that escaped from his master's lipless mouth.

His Lord stood in a nonagram, drawn with the life-blood of a Muggle. He'd been standing there for at least two hours. Every now and then one of the black candles around the pentragram would sputter, and burn with a purple flame.

Finally, Lord Voldemort fell silent. All nine of the candles were flickering purple.

Wormtail shivered. The room was getting colder. He could see icecristals forming on the inside of the window. His breath came in puffs.

Suddenly all the candles went out simultaneously. In the utter darkness of the room, Voldemort laughed.

Wormtail, who had been fumbling with his wand to cast a _Lumos_, dropped his wand in fright. His Master's laugh was gleeful... Too gleeful for Wormtails comfort. His instinct as a rat took over, and he froze.

Something moved in the darkness.

It was a shuffling, _heavy_ sound.

A moment of silence. Then the lines of the nonagram burst into light, casting an eery purple glow in the entire room.

Lord Voldemort was standing there, in the middle of the glowing markings. And something was throwing itself at the nonagram, something with claws and teeth and slimy tendrils, something that clearly wished to shred Voldemort to little pieces but couldn't cross the barrier of magic.

Lord Voldemort was still smiling. "I summoned you, demon. You cannot harm your master. But I am not entirely unkind." He gestured to Wormtail. "There is your sacrifice. Take him, and then let us discuss your assignment."

Wormtail's eyes went wide. The demon turned towards him, and seemed to- _change_. It's horrendous features melted into something resembling a human's, though only if one didn't look to closely. It wore its human disguise as an ill-fitting coat.

Wormtail found he couldn't move. His eyes were glued to the milky-blue ones of the creature. His bladder acutely emptied itself.

There was a moment of purple light glinting on teeth. Then the nonagram went dark.

Wormtail screamed.

:-:

Harry yawned. "Thanks Ron, but I think I'm going to catch some sleep. It's been a long day. And besides, it's not as if I'm ever going to beat you."

Ron grinned and started putting away the chess set. "You've got that right."

Harry got up from his chair and rubbed his eyes. Ron had already disappeared into the bathroom.

Absently he glanced at the window. He froze.

A pale, translucent image hung in the dark sky behind the window. A ghost, but one Harry'd never seen before. She had a circular, sad face and short curly hair, in which Harry could faintly discern two small, round pins.

The next moment she was floathing away from Gryffindor tower, and Harry hurriedly summoned his broom. A few seconds later he'd opened the window and plummeted into the night sky, following the ghost.

She led him around Hogwarts, and over the lake, where the trees were doubly as dark and threatening, and even the Centaurs didn't venture. Hagrid had once warned Harry and his friends about coming here – the place stank of Dark Magic, Hagrid had told them, and it always had. Some people believed Slytherin himself had used this place to experiment, or perhaps some other dark wizard in the history of Hogwarts. The evil magic had sunk into the earth itself, Hagrid had said, and it had deformed the trees into nearly-sentient monsters, a place where no wildlife dared to come, not even the Acromantula's.

As he neared the place, Harry sensed a flaw in Hagrid's tale. It wasn't Dark magic that lived here. It was Death Magic, and it called to Harry.

Harry nearly closed his eyes against the sensation, but the reminder that he was currently on his broom made him reconsider. With his eyes opened wide he noticed the odd way the trees had grown – from his place high up in the air, he saw the deformed trees were arranged neatly in the pattern of a nonagram, a star with nine points. Harry shivered. Most dark wizards used ordinary pentagrams and hexagrams in their rituals – the nonagram was a much darker symbol, used almost exclusively by Necromancers to summon the most dangerous kind of demons.

The trees that formed the symbol were old, Harry noticed. They were a slow-growing variety of bloodwood – the magical kind. The kind that would absorb someones blood and pass it through its roots to the tree next to it, so that with one small sacrifice the entire nonagram would activate and-

And what? Who had planted these trees? Why so close to the school? And why had the ghost led Harry here?

The spirit had dived beneath the foliage. Harry followed, a bit more carefully. He nearly stumbled in his landing – the threeroots and those small, flat stones that protruded just a bit from the earth were not fun to land on. Harry glanced around, only to find the ghost had disappeared. Great.

God, he hoped this wasn't a trap...

He reached for his wand, ready for the slightest sign of an attack.

The trees moved in a slight breeze. Leaves fluttered down and covered the flat stones.

Hary waited a few minutes, but no attack came. Very well. Perhaps he should investigate, look around a bit. There had to be a reason for him to be here, right?

The Death Magic in the air tingled on his skin. He carefully kneeled down by one of the flat stones and brushed the dirt and leaves away.

_Norw. Ridgeback, aged 6. Preserv. spell active fr. 1002 – 2017. Requires salt._

Harry blinked, and went to another stone.

_Kelpie, aged 89. Preserv. spell active fr. 995 – 1448. Add water._

Yet another one said:

_Lamiae, aged 457. Dormant. Requires blood. Emergency only!_

It seemed like someone had started their own cemetary... With even some instructives as to how to wake its occupants! It had to be founded by a Necromancer, there wasn't any doubt about it, but who? And what had happened?

If the _1002 – 2017_ were dates, it had to be someone from the time of the Founders. Yet the text on the headstones was easily understandable for Harry – so it had to be Parseltongue, a language one needed to use the full power of Necromancy. Had Salazar Slytherin been a Necromancer?

No, he couldn't have been. If he had, Harry wouldn't have been able to summon his spirit when he raised his army.

Well, whoever it had been, he or she had left a veritable treasure behind. This place, with all its buried magical creatures, was _exactly_ what he needed right now...

:-:

Hogwarts was buzzing with activity, even without the students. From all over the country wizards and witches were flocking to Hogwarts, and it was all because of an announcement Dumbledore made. With Harry's consent, he made the Prophecy public knowledge.

It had had an effect beyond their wildest dreams. People were actually insisting no child should do this by himself, and they were coming to Hogwarts, entire groups of serious wizards and witches who decided to aid him. Meanwhile, students where being pulled out of Hogwarts, for their own safety. Everyone believed Hogwarts would become the final battleground – and soon.

:-:-:-:-:

_A/N I'm sorry for the long wait, and the short chapter. I intended to write the final battle already, but my inspiration dried up and I left you guys without an update too long already... And it's exams in three weeks, so my writing time will be nearly non-existent. Ah,well. It's nearly Christmas, right?_


	13. Struck By Lightning

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. Don't we all wish we were her?_

_Summary: The summer after 'Order of the Phoenix', Harry is depressed and angry. And he starts thinking. Is death really irreversible?_

_After disappearing for a year, Harry has returned, wearing the pins that identify him as a Necromancer. The final battle is near._

_Spoilers for: Books 1 to 5. (HBP never happened. Really.)_

**Struck By Lightning**

It was a sunlit afternoon. The little girl was happily sitting on her swing, enjoying a strawberry lolly. She stared at the man walking by, at the other side of the hedge.

The odd man seemed to sense her stare. He turned around, smiling at her. "Hello, little one. What's so interesting?"

The girl took her lolly from her mouth with a muffled 'pop'. "You walk funny," she declared.

The smile widened. "I do, don't I? What's your name, little one?"

"Mary," the girl answered. "I'm five now, you know." Then she suddenly remembered something. "But I'm not really allowed to talk to strangers."

Mary felt something was wrong with the smile, but couldn't figure out what. The man was a bit scary. But monsters only came out at night, right? And the sun was very hot right now.

"In that case, little Mary, we should stop talking," the man said. "I'm feeling rather hungry anyway." While he spoke his face changed.

Mary screamed, but the impossibly long arms had already grabbed her.

Only seconds later her parents ran out of the back door, to see what was wrong with their daughter.

They only found her lollipop.

:-:

"I found a graveyard in the Forest."

"On Hogwarts' grounds?"

"Yes. It's not just any graveyard either. Hermione, is there anything in '_Hogwarts, A History'_ about a Necromancer in the time of the Founders?"

"Why do you ask?"

"The graves were coded in Parseltongue. And it's not so common to put a set of instructions on each headstone."

Hermione blinked. "That's indeed unusual."

"I noticed." was the ironic reply.

"Well, if there was Parseltongue on the gravestones, Slytherin must have been a Necromancer. I'll try to find something in the library -"

Harry shook his head. "Don't bother. It doen't really matter who made the graveyard, though I'm sure it wasn't Slytherin. We have to focus on the war. Our future is much more important than the past."

He closed his eyes for a moment. The fate of the world was heavy on his shoulders. If Voldemort won...

"What are you going to do now?"

He opened his eyes. Hermione was staring at him intently, worried about him.

"I'll do what I was born to do." _I'll murder Voldemort..._

When people talk about the enemy, they always "defeat" or "vanquish" them. Nobody wants to call it for what it is: murder.

In that last battle, Harry had done a bit more than just murder those Death Eaters. He had literally ripped their souls from their bodies, shred the only truly immortal part they had.

Ever since his return to the living, he had tried not to think about it. It was war. He was _supposed _to use these powers he was gifted with. They knew what they were getting into when they joined Voldemort.

Right?

"First I'll speak to everyone who's come to Hogwarts to aid in the battle."

"And after that?"

"I'll raise the dead."

:-:

While Harry was giving his speech, Voldemort planned his final strike. The one that would deal with every opposition he had. Wizard and Muggle.

And Harry Potter had given him the means to do it.

Summoning demons was hard work. It was much easier to create zombies.

Stronger than Inferi, but mindless. Getting spirits to inhabit them was much too tiring, and a risk. Now they couldn't decide to desert to the other side. Without a mind they were stupid and easily defeated, yes, but their numbers would make up for their lack of intelligence. The Muggles would be horrified at seeing them, so much they wouldn't fight back. And the wizards... Ah, well. Summoning demons was hard work, but once in a while he liked a challenge.

He'd strike all at once. The world wouldn't know what hit it. His plan was perfect.

With these thoughts in mind, Voldemort travelled from graveyard to graveyard, all around the world.

Perfect.

:-:

It was the night before Halloween.

The night before those few hours between sunset and sunrise when the pearly gates of death where wide open...

Harry felt the power in the air. It tingled on his skin, made his steps lighter. He barely kept himself from whistling a happy tune.

It was not a time to be jolly, after all. He was pretty sure Voldemort would strike on Halloween. It was the time when a Necromancer's power was the strongest.

It was also the anniversary of the death of his parents.

"I know you'll be there tomorrow, Mum and Dad," he whispered to the stars. They twinkled at him. A breeze ruffled his hair. Two bats flew past the silvery moon, probably searching for insects. It was a peaceful night.

Last year, he'd celebrated his first Halloween as a Necromancer by summoning two souls from the afterlife. It had been memorable. He'd been exhausted for weeks afterwards, but it had been worth every painful moment. He'd treasure the experience forever. Dawn had come too early, much too early.

Perhaps he'd join them tomorrow. It all depended on how the battle would go. As long as he'd defeat Voldemort, he didn't mind dying. Death was, after all, the next adventure. He should know.

He'd made good use of the graveyard he found. He had an army, undead and wizards alike. Even a few giants and werewolves, thanks to Hagrid and Lupin, had been added to his ranks.

"You look worried," a voice said. Luna. Who else who say something so obvious?

"I _am_ worried," he responded. Her footsteps were soft as she joined him on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower. Her pale eyes were fixed on him.

"You shouldn't be," she decided. Harry turned to look at her. She was wearing her famous cork neckless and radish earrings. It was Luna, alright. But something about her was... off. In his sensitive state he could feel something odd about her...

Perhaps it was the lack of dreaminess, and he was just worrying about nothing. He'd been away for a year, after all. There had been little time to talk with his friends, it was possible some things had changed during his absence...

No. His senses were clear about this. There was something of which he was sure it had always been there but he just hadn't noticed before... Wearily, he curled his hand around his wand.

"Why?"

Luna smiled. There was something wrong with the smile too, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what -

_Oh. _

"Because, Harry, you have more allies than you think," Luna said, two slender fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"I do?" he said carefully, not letting go of his wand. It was always best to be careful with vampires. Even if they were, well, Luna. "I was under the impression your kind had joined Voldemort."

"We haven't." Another voice said. Harry recognized this one too, and his mind made the connection of its presence with the two bats he'd seen. Ollivander stepped out of the shadows, his silvery eyes kind. "There are three large groups in our society, Mr Potter. The biggest one is neutral in this war. Voldemort only has the rogue families. And the clan Miss Lovegood and I belong to is the one that'll be fighting at your side tomorrow."

"That is, if you'll let us."

Harry looked at them. He knew from his readings that only half-vampires or very old ones could go out in sunlight. They would only be able to help after sunset. Could he trust them?

Luna smiled at him, her old dreamy smile. He made a decision.

"Thank you," he said softly, and watched as Ollivander bowed slightly and faded away. A bat passed the moon again.

Luna took Harry's hand in hers. "Don't worry," she repeated, squeezing a little. Then she let go and turned around. He followed her with his eyes as she skipped into the Tower, and down the stairway.

Harry turned back to the sky. More allies than he thought... His army had grown again.

Would it be enough?

He let his eyes flutter closed, tasting the magic in the air.

Only time could tell.

:-:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

:-:

It stirred. The smell of dried blood was thick in the air. It savoured the sensation, before opening its eyes.

The house was dark. In the faint light that filtered through the closed curtains it could see the shapes lying on the floor, the beautiful red splattered on the walls, the ceiling...

Something wimpered.

Its blue eyes narrowed. Had it missed one? Impossible... Ah, but there it was, one of the males wasn't fully dead yet.

It moved quicker than the eye could see. The wimpering stopped. Delicious energy warmed its body.

It didn't have the time to make the kill long and slow. It had a deal with the red-eyed Necromancer, oh ye_sss_, and the deal was for today... This evening, to be exact.

It hissed. It didn't want to wait until the evening. It was strong enough to ignore the awful sun, it was strong enough to render everything on its path into little edible pieces. It wanted to. A Necromancer's blood was sweet, it remembered that from a long, long time ago... It wanted to taste it again.

The deal was for this evening. It didn't care. It wanted its prize, now, not later.

Slithering back into its human disguise, the demon left the Muggle house.

You'd expect someone to scream when they saw the man, covered in blood, walking through the streets of the village.

No one did.

There was no one left to.

:-:

Noon. Tonight it would be All Hallow's Eve. The build-up of Death Magic in the air took his breath away, but that didn't matter, since he didn't need to breathe anyway.

He hadn't been able to sleep since his return to the land of the living. He simply didn't need it. Cloaked in his magic, his skull-shaped pins gleaming, he felt as ready as he ever would be.

He just finished telling his War Council – the Order and some prominent Aurors – what had happened the night before, about the help they would recieve. Dumbledore hadn't been suprised. His eyes merely twinkled, and he'd greeted Ollivander in the way of old friends. He offered the wandmaker a seat at the War Council without any hesitation.

"Everyone's ready, then," one of the Aurors decided. "We only have to wait until You-Know-Who attacks."

Suddenly Harry looked up. An odd cramp went through him. "This is wrong," he whispered. "Something's coming."

Immediately he had everyone's attention. "Is it Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked urgently.

Harry shook his head. Another cramp went through him. It was as if something was disturbing the Death Magic in the air... Considering that magic was the only thing keeping him 'alive', that was a bad sign.

The third cramp send him to the ground. The disturbance came nearer. Within seconds it would become visible, and then...

The door swung open.

There was a lot of gasping and cursing, mixed with spells and curses. With a incredible amount of willpower, Harry managed to ignore the pain enough to look up.

There was a – creature, in the doorway. It looked human, but only if you didn't look too closely. Its eyes were blue pits. It couldn't fool Harry's senses. He knew what he was looking at.

The spells and curses didn't do anything on impact. The creature only held its head sideways, not blinking.

_BHAM!_

Dumbledore had send a curse speeding towards the creature. The force made it step backwards, but that was all it did.

"Run," Harry whispered. "You can't deal with this. Only I can."

"You're not alone, Harry," was Dumbledore's reaction. "What is it? What does it want?"

"A demon... It's here for me. Voldemort must have summoned it, but how?" The information fell in place. It was obvious, really. "_Merlin_, I'm such a fool! Voldemort took my blood in that ritual, so now he's -"

He didn't get to finish that sentence, because the demon suddenly exploded into action, leaping at Harry faster than the human eye could see. Ollivander jumped at it, but even vampire speed was no match for a demon like this. It simply batted the wandmaker away with its claws, without pausing in its attack.

Harry managed to lift his wand and dagger before the demon reached him. With the speed and direction it was going it couldn't evade the dagger, and Harry planted it firmly into the demon's chest. Black-blue blood spilled out. The creature paused, glanced at the dagger as if it didn't understand what was happening, and then, with a frightening hissing sound, it threw off its human appearance.

It wasn't exactly _big_. It was more... tall, and stick-thin, with impossibly long skinny arms, both ending in claws at least six inches long. Slimy tendrils were draped all around the hideous body, tentacles oozing a pale blue liquid. In the deformed face was a hint of very, very sharp teeth.

The eyes remained the same, however. Few demons could hide the truth of their eyes.

Harry would have gasped, but didn't get the time. The demon plucked the dagger out of its chest, stared at the black blood welling up, and hissed in displeasure. Suddenly Harry found himself wrapped in tentacles, the liquid burning like acid. He screamed. It hurt!

He struggled to get an arm out of the deadly embrace. If he could get an arm free, he could use his wand, and then perhaps -

_BOOM!_

A red spell erupted against the demon's back, but the creature didn't even turn around. This had to be a high-level one... Wizard magic couldn't harm them.

Death Magic could, naturally. The only problem was getting an arm free.

Feeling the burning liquid seep downwards, sizzling through his robes, Harry desperately twisted his wand so that the tip pointed at the demon and hissed an incantation. Difficult, without the proper movement, but if it helped...

A sickly yellow light.

The demon screamed, a horrible screeching sound which made the humans in the room cover their ears and drop their wands. Harry's spell had ripped through the demon's skin, severing quite a big piece of flesh and a tentacle. In distress and angered, it didn't pay enough attention to feel Harry struggling his arms free.

Good. He could move a bit again. The acid kept burning, though, so he had to end this quick, before he was a puddle on the ground.

There were different spells to get rid of different demons. He had no idea what exactly this one was, so he'd have to try.

He managed to try three and saw them fail, before the demon took notice of him again. It brought its face close to Harry's and hissed.

The young Necromancer could feel the Death Magic in the room twisting, distorting. The curse he just released turned with the magic, went from red to purple, and bounced around the room before hitting a chair.

The chair stretched its legs and ran away, impacting twice with a wall before finding the open door and disappearing.

Well. He hadn't meant to do that. But magic was the only way to deal with this thing... He had to risk it.

"Duck!" he yelled to the human occupants of the room, blasting another curse at the demon, and another. The first one suddenly twisted and headed for Dumbledore, who showed a remarkable agility for his age when he jumped to the side. The curse hit the wall, which started to heat up until the stone itself sizzled and smoked. The second one impacted with the creature... but it only turned its skin green.

The demon growled and attempted to grab Harry again, its tentacles leaking acid on everything now. It was getting more dangerous too, together with the anger of the demon. A single drop of the blue stuff burned a hole through the tick stone floor, all the way down to the classroom below, only then losing its potency.

Harry ducked to avoid the tentacle reaching for him. He did _not_ want that blue stuff on him again, especially not now it had become so strong!

He rolled away from another tentacle, almost colliding with the melting wall. The Death magic wouldn't work properly as long as this demon was around... If only he was stronger, perhaps there'd be a way to stop the creature from twisting the magic, but his not-quite-dead body depended on the power the demon was corrupting, so he wasn't exactly at the peak of his might.

He'd have to resort to wizard magic, but there was only one curse potent enough to harm a demon.

He evaded another tentacle.

A curse he'd vowed to never use. Even when dabbling in the deepest, darkest arts, he didn't use the spell, simply out of principle.

Harry jumped to the side. The claws buried themselves in the bubbling wall instead of in his stomach. The demon howled in pain.

The curse had killed him several times, after all. And his parents... And countless others.

He rolled away from a set of claws.

But now something else would kill him, if he didn't act fast!

He pointed his wand at the demon, collecting all the emotion he could.

"Avada Kedavra."

A green flash. A thump. Tentacles lashed out, shivered, stilled.

Harry lowered his wand, taking in the shocked wizards and witches, the melting wall, the ripped and bloody parchment everywhere.

There was a long, tense silence, which Dumbledore ended. "Is it dead?"

He was looking at the demon. Harry nodded. "It is"

He closed his eyes, feeling the acid on his skin losing its burning power now the source of it was dead. He was tired and felt filthy, outside and inside. He hated that curse.

Merlin, how he hated that curse.

The Death Magic was recovering, as was Harry. He shakingly rose to his feet, steadied himself on a piece of chair, and looked at the worried faces.

"Voldemort used my blood in his rebirth. It would seem he has learned how to use at least some of a Necromancer's powers. I don't have to tell you that this is bad news."

Harry seemed to struggle with his words. There was an emotion in his voice that worried Dumbledore. It almost sounded as if... as if Harry had lost his drive. As if he had lost all hope.

"He's much more experienced than I am and I'm just- sorry. I – I have to go, and prepare some things." The last sentence was stuttered. Harry didn't dare to meet anyone's eyes before he fled the room.

:-:

Sunset. Not that it mattered much. The dark clouds covering the sky had erased most lines between night and day. The only hint something changed was the clouds turning an even darker gray.

No, not the only hint. Something else was changing, and for once Harry wasn't thinking about the ever-rising power of the Death magic. Right above the Forest, something had appeared. A swarm of little moving creatures...

For a moment Harry thought it were those murdering crows again, but luckily he realised the truth before he attacked them with a spell.

It weren't crows. It were bats. Hundreds of them.

They landed in front of the lines of wizards and witches, Aurors and ordinary citizens, of giants and werewolves and even brave students.

A shimmer in the air when the bats turned into their natural shape. All the vampires were dressed similary, probably to avoid confusion with Voldemort's vampires. But Harry didn't need to see a special uniform. He knew immediately who the leader was. Only one of them truly hummed with power, the kind you could only gain by old age. It was a woman, thin and pale, who wouldn't look very remarkable in a crowd.

He bowed his head. "Milady. I welcome you and your family. I am honored you wish to help us."

To his surprise the ancient vampire bowed back. "I greet you, Master Necromancer. The honor is entirely ours. It is not every day we can aid He-Who-Walks-In-Death."

Harry cleared his throat, a bit embarressed. Why did she call him that? It was the same thing the Dementor Queen said to him... and he still didn't understand it.

:-:

The clouds were black. The entire sky turned sable, darkness building on darkness.

Harry inspected his army. Dressed in his battle robes – open at the front and short enough not to trip over them – with his skull-shaped hairpins and his too vibrant green eyes, he was ready for the battle.

He had been ignoring his friends for the last few hours. Ever since the attack of the demon Harry had been even more distant. His eyes were troubled and unsure, and he had evaded every attempt to talk about what happened. Nobody really understood why he reacted the way he did.

Now there wouldn't be anymore time to talk. In the distance dark shapes were taking to the air, and this time it weren't bats.

The swarms were coming closer. Harry could see the wings beating.

"Steady..." he murmured. "Don't fire any spells yet... Save those for the other threaths."

The crows passed over the Forest, now close to their goal.

Harry took hold of his magic, and yelled in Parseltongue: ":_Now!:"_

A huge dark shape shot up from the forest and breathed fire at the surprised crows. The birds tried to escape by making sharp turns, but the Norwegian Ridgeback followed them easily. It was a very agile dragon, even for a corpse.

That would take care of the crows. Now the other thraets became visible, Apparating in at the edge of the wards.

A blind Basilisk reached the first horde of Death Eaters. There was a lot of screaming, a lot of blood.

The magic in the air tingled.

With a hoarse battle-yell every single person at Hogwarts' side of the battlefield stormed towards the enemy, ready to implement all the tactics and plans their had thought up. The first spell was fired. It was a Reducto, a spell normally used on inanimate objects. On a living Death Eater, the result was grisly.

The battle had begun.

:-:

It was going well for Harry's side. His friends were showing they hadn't spend a year doing nothing while Harry had been gone, and the other wizards and witches put everything they had in their curses. The battlefield lighted up with the glares of all the spells cast. In the darkness above and beyond the vampires and werewolves fought, while the seemingly endless amount of crows got instantly baked by the Norwegian Ridgeback and the other two dragons Harry had revived. That graveyard had been a real blessing. Harry'd found a lot of useful creatures there.

Even though everything seemed to be going well, Harry couldn't help worrying. He hadn't seen Voldemort yet. Their fortune could change.

He felt the Dark Lord before he saw him. The power of another Necromancer sang to his. Voldemort had truly found a way to unlock the Death magic in Harry's stolen blood...

"Hello, Harry." The voice carried over to where Harry was fighting, without being hindered by the screams and banging spells of the battlefield. The Death Eater that was fighting Harry suddenly vanished in the crowd. The battling armies parted for the Dark Lord when he made his way to Harry Potter.

The serpentine face smiled. "Have you noticed the present you gave me? I find it very useful. Now I, also, am favoured by Death."

"What, no more demons to do your dirty for you?" Harry challenged him.

Voldemort laughed softly. "No, I'd prefer to kill you myself, Harry. That demon was only supposed to... put you in the right set of mind." He spread a hand, an old-fashioned clock dangling from it. "Untouchable," he murmured. "True immortality. The air is filled with power. I can taste it. It keeps growing with every second, every death." He looked up, eyes burning. "It will be _mine!_"

"It's only Halloween," Harry replied, making sure his grip on his wand was strong enough. "At sunrise the magic will disappear again."

Voldemort slowly shook his head. "No. I will make it not so. Right about... now."

Harry felt the Death magic spike painfully. The power let him see what was happening –

**towns being attacked by zombies, _armies_ of them**

**demons ravaging wizard's homes**

**blood and gore and **

**_everywhere_ in the entire world people were being murdered brutally**

**dying,**

**dying,**

_**dying...**_

Harry had trouble staying on his feet. He had to put a stop to this... So much deaths...

Voldemort fired a spell at him. It was Death magic, incredibly potent right now, but since both of them could access that vast amount of power Harry blocked it easily. He replied with a Cutting Curse.

Voldemort blocked it and he switched to using Dark Magic. Harry wasn't as experienced in that, he would be less able to protect himself.

The Bone-Shattering Curse hit Harry in his left arm. He cried out softly, before reaching with his other arm in his cloak and throwing a botlle full of blue stuff at Voldemort. It was what was left of the demon's acid, empowered again by Harry's magic. An Explosion hex made the bottle break and it showered Voldemort in glass shards and flesh-eating acid.

With a hiss the Dark Lord dispelled it, but at least some damage was done.

They resumed trading spells and curses as if there wasn't a tomorrow. For at least one of them, there wouldn't be.

:-:

"Ron, _duck!_" The curse she just evaded pased over Ron's head, only a breath away from hitting him. He turned around quickly to flash her a brief smile, to show he was fine.

Hermione fought of yet another Death Eater. While many of Voldemort's followers were rather stupid and slow, not everyone of them was a Crabbe of a Goyle. A few times a simple Stupefy had been enough, but now her opponent was one Bellatrix Lestrange, who was as predictable as a thunderstorm and with as much uncontrolled power.

Hermione dodged a Cruciatus Curse and managed to hit Bellatrix with a Confundus, closely followed by a Banishing Hex that knocked the Dark witch against Lucius Malfoy, whom Ron was dueling with.

:-:

Ron was using his tactical mind to its fullest. This was a kind of chess after all, a lethal one, but Malfoy was rather predictable. He had yet to use something else than the Unforgivables, which made the choice 'dodge or shield' an easy one.

He and Hermione had kept the DA running during Harry's absence. Not with as much enthousiasm, but even in their grief Ron had convinced her that they all needed to be able to defend themselves. It was a war, after all.

All that training was really worth the time and effort, Ron mused, throwing off an Imperius and levitating Malfoy Senior up into the sky, before dropping him. The blond man hit the grond with a groan and didn't get up again.

There was no time to check if he was dead or not. Ron was immediately attacked by two other Death Eaters.

:-:

Hermione was hit with a vicious spell that left boils all over the left side of her face, and the arm she'd used to shield her eyes from it. The boils burst with every movement and blood welled up. She gritted her theet against the pain and fired a spell of her own.

Lestrange clearly hadn't expected a mere student to be such a good duelist. The annoyance when Hermione kept fighting and the anger at every spell she was hit with was clearly visisble. Suddenly the Death Eater looked up to a place somewhere above Hermione and she made a sign with her hand.

Hermione glanced up and rolled away. A bat turned nito a man during its dive and crouched on the exact place Hermione had been standing before. She stared into the cruel face.

During her rolling her wand had slipped from her sweaty hands. The pain in her arm was awful. She looked around, searching for her wand or at least something to defend her with, when the vampire leapt.

Mid-leap however, he encountered resistance in the form of Luna, who to Hermione's confused senses had appeared out of nowhere. How the small girl managed to stop a raging vampire was a mystery to Hermione, that is until she spotted the fangs in Luna's mouth.

The odd Ravenclaw threw the other vampire off and gave Hermione the chance to locate her wand and hitting the man with a Fire spell. He shrieked and started rolling on the ground to put out the fire on his clothes, where he was an easy target for Luna's punch to his head, knocking him unconscious.

Lestrange had been busy with a long winded spell Hermione didn't know. As soon as Hermione's attention shifted from the vampire to her, she let the spell fly loose.

A dark wraith-like creature shot from her wand and flew right through Hermione, makig her gasp and struggle to breathe. Black spots danced in front of her eyes.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Luna's voice sounded. The evil shade fled from the Patronus. Bellatrix, angered, Conjured a dozen stakes and send them flying at Luna, who was looking at Hermione to see if she was alright.

Luckily, Hermione did notice the stakes and levitated the unconscious male vampire in their path. Lestrange reacted with a Cruciatus Curse, which Hermione dodged. Her opponent was very angry now and that cost her in concentration.

A Boiling Hex later Lestrange had dropped her wand in pain, and didn't manage to evade the next spell, knocking her unconscious. Her neck landed on a rock sticking out of the ground, and there was an ugly breaking sound.

Hermione granted herself a moment to breathe. She smiled faintly at Luna. "Thanks for saving my life just then." She shook her head. "A vampire. How could I have missed that? That explains why you're always going on about non-existent creatures like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. If people think you're insane already, they won't notice any other oddities, am I right? A very smart tactic."

Luna blinked. "Thank you... I think. Though Crumple-Horned Snorkacks do exist. You shouldn't believe everything you read."

Hermione just looked at her blankly. Well, vampire or not, it was still Luna.

A horrible screeching sound from the sky made them look up. One of the reanimated dragons was apparantly hit by something and came crashing down.

:-:

A group of Death Eaters had managed to bring down one of the dragons. Harry saw it but could barely acknowledge it, he had to concentrate on the battle itself. Voldemort was an incredible opponent, and very experienced.

Harry found it difficult to focus on the here and now, knowing all those people were dying... He had to kill Voldemort – with his death, all his zombies and demons would fall apart or be banished back to their own dimension. The killing would stop -

He ducked and an ugly spell passed over his head. There was something wrong -

He gasped as he felt the spell hit him in the back. It must have turned around like a boomerang...

His limbs wouldn't listen to him anymore as the Paralisation Hex – a stronger, darker version of Stupefy – did its work.

Voldemort walked towards him as he sank to his knees, the faintly glowing shape of Harry's soul a few seconds behind his body. It was still too tightly bound to the flesh to move independantly. There was no way he could move.

The Dark Lord looked down on him, a gleeful smile stretching his face.

"Harry Potter, this wil be your end. I know you must feel it too. There's powerful magic in the air. Can you feel Death speeding towards you, to finally take your soul?" A high, chilling laugh. "The ancient texts were right. It is quite a feeling, the death of a Necromancer. If this is only the backlash, I wonder how marvellous it wil be when the moment finally comes." Voldemort stroked his wand. "Don't worry, my little nemesis. It won't be long before this ends for you and the world is mine."

The Death Magic was building up to insane heights. All around the world people were being murdered by Voldemort's zombies and demons, and the residu of their deaths hung in the air, the worst kind of pollution thinkable. Yet above all that Harry could indeed sense that Voldmeort was right... There was a special tingle in the air he recognised from the other times he died. Now he knew what it meant. Death was coming to claim one of his favoured.

Again. This time Harry doubted he would be able to strike a deal. If only he could throw off the spell and _move!_

Voldemrot was still talking. "The first thing I'll do is kill every one of your friends and use the powers you gave me to keep their souls. There will be no reuniting in the afterlife. Even if you end up in Heaven, you will know that every single second I'll keep your friends in pain and misery." A horrible smile. "Consider it my last gift to you." He aimed his wand. "Farewell, Harry Potter."

This was the end.

Death approached Harry, the power in the air so strong it was painful. Harry saw the Killing Curse fly at him as if in slow-motion, the green the same colour as his eyes...

Harry reacted a split second before it would hit him. Still unable to move, he did the only thing he could, purely by instinct. His entire soul cried out that **Voldemort must not **_**win! **_

He reached out to the Death magic, so close to him now, reached out to the magic that supported his, felt it responding, flowing into him, every cell of his being screaming when the Ultimate Power invaded them...

He reached out to it, called for it, absorbed it, _became_ it...

The Killing Curse hit him, and sizzled out.

In the flickering light his hands appeared skeletal. A scythe appeared in those hands, its edge glowing Avada Kedavra green. He rose to his feet, easily breaking the paralisation. Lightning illuminated his face.

Voldemort stared at Harry Potter, and saw Death. "No..."

Harry swung the scythe.

The blade severed Voldemort's head nicely from his body, but the most important was the glowing, scarred thing being ripped from his body. Voldemort's soul was an ugly, misshapen thing, missing pieces here and there.

He-Who-Walks-In-Death – or rather, whom Death walked in – lifted the scythe and at an amazing speed several creatures of light appeared on the horizon, each of them with sparkling wings and carrying glowing shapes. Death's Angels, who brought the missing pieces of Voldemort's soul.

Once complete again, the scarred soul faded away.

The drop in Death Magic was noticable now the zombies and demons all over the world were disappearing. The Ministries of Magic would have a difficult time explaining all this to the Muggles.

But Harry wasn't thinking about that. He could barely think at all. The power of Death was still inside him, burning and freezing at the same time, too much, simply _too much_...

Harry fell on his knees again, dropping the scythe, the lightning flashes cradling him. "Please," he sobbed. "Please take it back! No human can hold this much power – please take it back!"

Thunder rolled, lightning flashed.

From one moment to another, the clouds disappeared. Stars became visible, twinkling in the sky.

Harry smiled weakly when the power left him. There was one second of pure relief – then the world started spinning in front of his eyes. Everything went dark.

:-:

The battlefield was complete, utter chaos. Everywhere Hermione looked she saw Aurors, villagers and students dealing with the fleeing Death eaters. Some of Voldemort's followers intended to make a last stand, but with the death of their leader the tide had turned against them. Azkaban would be a busy place the next fifty years.

She Stunned another one of the rogue vampires. Wiping the sweat from her brow, wincing when she felt the boils sting, she turned slightly and risked a glance at Harry.

The young wizard was still lying collapsed in the dirt, shivering violently. Hermione didn't know what exactly had happened, but why wasn't anyone helping Harry? He was weakened, and any moment someone could -

A black robed man emerged from the battling wizards and ran towards Harry. The man's blond hair had escaped from his tattered hood and half of his white mask was shredded, revealing the face of Lucius Malfoy. He was holding something in his hand, something sharp and glinting.

Hermione was already running towards Harry and intoning a Stunner, but she knew she was too late. Malfoy had already reached the weakened Necromancer.

There was a flurry of black robes, a cry, a hoarse shout. One of the bodies stilled.

Hermione felt tears in her eyes. Why didn't she react earlier? She started running again, gathering her anger and sadness, getting ready to hit Malfoy with all she had...

"Oi! Stop hitting me!" a tired voice cried out.

Hermione blinked away her tears. "Harry?"

The robes moved. The remains of Lucius Malfoy were pushed aside, to reveal a pale but smiling Harry Potter.

A Harry Potter who was calmly extracting a small hairpin from Malfoy's arm. He wiped it carefully on the dead man's cloak and put it back above his ear. The small skull was nearly invisible in the mess he called his hair.

Hermione blinked. And again. "How – you said those pins were some kind of trademark! And a warning!"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "A warning with a tiny bit of fast-acting posion. You never know when it might come in handy, after all."

Hermione just shook her head and sighed.

:-:

The castle itself had survived the battle without any injuries, which was more than could be said about the students. There had been many fatalities.

It had been a nightmare. The Muggle world was in shambles, the Secrecy Act was a complete loss, and the death toll had been great.

But it was over. Voldemort was gone, definitely this time. There would be no coming back for him.

Harry vowed to make sure nothing like this would happen again. Ever.

Right now he was in the Hospital Wing, which had been magically expanded to fit in all the injured. Most of them had been send to St Mungo's, but they had run out of space rather quickly. The wizarding families the demons had attacked were there too.

Hermione, a pink salve on her boils, was sitting next to Harry's bed. On the other side was Ron, his orange hair completely burned off. But they were alive. As was Dumbledore, and the Weasley family, and Luna, and Neville, and many others he could call his friends. He hadn't lost as much as he'd feared. They were all alive.

And if he could believe Madam Pomfrey, so was he.

His soul and body were bound together again. No more half-deadness for him! His pulse and breathing were back, and according to Madame Pomfrey he was in topcondition, only a bit tired.

"So I can go now?" he asked hopefully. She nodded reluctantly. "Yes, you may go. I would like to keep you here for observation, but -" Harry was already out the bed and pulling on his robes. He really didn't like hospitals.

A few minutes later, Ron, Hermione and Harry were leaving the Hospital Wing. Harry's look was pensive.

"So, no more Zombie-boy, eh?" Ron broke the silence.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I'm alive again."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione smiled warmly at him. "Now you can finally have a normal life, like you always wanted."

"I guess so." Harry smiled back. "Now I can be normal."

And when that would become tiring... Harry fingered the miniature scythe he'd found in his robe. The tiny silver skulls glinted in his hair.

When normalcy became boring...

Harry's smile broadened.

He could always become something _more_.

:-:-:

**The End.**


	14. Extra's

**Innocence is fleeting, Death stays true forever: EXTRA's**

**The hairpins**

Ron approached his best friend with caution.

"Harry, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Hary looked up from the large, evil looking book he was reading. "Yes?"

Ron fidgeted. "Well, me and some other guys, we were thinking and... er, don't you think your hairpins are a bit girly?"

Harry stared at him. Then he unclipped the pins and looked at them speculatively. It were plain black bobby pins, with tiny silver skulls at one end, barely larger than a pinhead. When the Atlantean Counsel had decided all Necromancers had to wear those, they hadn't specified how large they should be. Harry could have picked huge jewel-encrusted glowing skulls, but that, he thought, would have been too much.

He clipped them back on. "I don't see it, Ron. What would you suggest, then? Skull rings? A skull necklace? Do you know how many Muggles have those?"

Ron looked surprised. "They do? Really? The boys too?"

"_Yes_, Ron."

:-:

**The clean-up**

Minister Scrimgeour wasn't happy.

"Ministries all over the world are desperate! The Secrecy Act is completely ruined now, with all those Inferi and demons that Voldemort made! How are we going to explain this? I cannot help but feel this is all your fault, Mr. Potter."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Actually, Minister, there may be a way to explain this to the Muggles without telling them of magic."

Scrimgeour huffed, not believing this girl, still a student, could find a solution when the smartest wizards of the world couldn't think of one. "Pray tell me, Ms. Granger."

"Well, sir, we could claim there had been genetic testing, sir, or some kind of virus excaped that killed people and took over their body, to infect others."

"What nonsense is this? No one would believe that!"

"Tell me sir, have you ever seen films like Resident Evil, or Dawn of the Dead?"

:-:

The Ministry had made it clear that Harry could forget being an Auror. If it was up to them his wand would have been snapped as soon as the battle was over, but the other Ministries had butted in and there was nothing they could do. Despite being a Necromancer (and proud of it), Harry was still a hero. People were a bit uneasy around him, but that would have been the case even if he defeated Voldemort with a hammer. They'd been afraid of You-Know-Who for so long...

Harry had found a way to live a fairly normal life, even with his Necromancy. He joined a small Muggle circus, which quickly grew in popularity because of him.

After all, who wouldn't like a medium that could actually speak to the dead?

He had Muggle customers as well as magical ones. Sometimes a desperate person would come, and beg him to please resurrect a loved one. Hary never promised anything, but he did contact the spirit in question. They couldn't lie to him. If he saw they had been good people, they wanted to live again and it was still possible to revive them, then he would do it. For free, too.

Shadowy businessmen had offered him bags of cash to bring back another shadowy businessman, but that he declined. A short talk with the spirit they wanted alive had been enough to decide that.

It was a quiet life. There was always something going on in the circus, yes, but it were ordinary things. Harry doubled as a magician and snake-handler in their shows, and the 'Amazing Harry and his Educated Serpents' became well known.

:-:

A/N: a small wink to the movies mentioned, and to Terry Pratchett's 'The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents', as you may have noticed.


End file.
